#car manual provider

[teapartyprincess4two]

Messy- J. Webber

pairing: Waitress!reader x Mechanic!Jake

classification: SMUT SMUT NO FLUFF

warnings: 18+, MDNI, literal sex, messy sex, public sex, facial, cream pie, cursing

inspiration: request

summary: Jake is a regular customer at the diner you work at, eating the same meal everyday before returning back to work. One day, when you’re taking his order, you can tell he has much more sinful intentions than a quick meal.

—

The diner is slow today, it always is on Sundays. You’ve had a total of 5 customers and it’s already past noon, making the day feel endless. You’re currently messing with the fryer in the kitchen. It turned off suddenly and now it won’t turn back on. “Stupid fucking fryer,” you grumble, clicking random buttons until it finally starts heating.

Suddenly the front doorbell rings, indicating a customer has entered the lobby. “Hello! I’ll be right with you!” you call out from the kitchen, peering your head over the order window to catch a glimpse of the customers. You instantly recognize that it’s Jake, he’s a regular customer and arrives everyday at exactly 12:30pm without fail.

Jake saunters in, dirty and sweaty from a hard days work. He works at an automotive repair shop that sits right on the corner of the street, choosing your diner everyday as his preferred dining spot. The walk from his car shop isn’t long, but he always leaves early so he misses the lunch rush.

Because he’s such a frequent customer, Jake knows the diner well, so he situates himself in the booth that gives him the best view of the kitchen. When he first started eating here, he realized that this booth provided him with a cinema worthy experience because he could watch you work as he enjoyed his meal.

You emerge from the kitchen with a big smile on your face, walking around the front counter and over to Jake’s table. “Can’t get enough of this place, huh?” you joke, retrieving a small notebook and ball point pen from the depths of your apron.

“Guess so,” Jake replies with a chuckle, folding his dirty hands over the table. They’re permanently stained with car oil, calloused by countless hours of manual labor. Your eyes travel from his broad, tattooed shoulders down to his folded arms, relishing in the way his sweat glistens in the sun that trickles in through the window. His white tank top is adorned with black smudges and stains, ripped and frayed along the edges. There’s dirt under his fingernails, a detail that you’d usually find disturbing, but it adds even more grit to Jake. You love the idea of being fucked by a hard working man who isn’t afraid to get dirty.

Jake’s messy look completely juxtaposes yours. You’re wearing your diner uniform, clad in a pastel pink dress and an apron so white it reflected the sun. Your hair is curled and pinned back, a matching pink bow dangling in between your bouncy strands. Stark white sneakers sway back and forth, as you wait patiently for Jake to order. You looked so clean, too clean, and Jake wanted to roam his hands all over you and watch how messy you could really get.

“So, your usual?” you ask, knowing Jake’s order by heart. Over the course of his visits, you’ve learned that Jake is a simple man. He orders the same thing everyday and although the food was slightly above average, he claimed it was his favorite as an excuse to watch you work.

Jake loved watching as you diligently wiped down tables, your hips rocking back and forth as you worked the rag into tough, grimy spots. When you were mopping, he’d scoot closer to the edge of his seat and watch you bend over as you rung out the mop. He especially loves watching as you walked over to his booth with his meal in hand, because once you arrive to the table you bend over just enough to expose the top of your breasts.

“You know how I like it, baby,” the nickname slips out naturally, the flirtatious undertones evident in Jake’s voice. At first you would become flustered with his incessant flirting, but now that you’re used to it, you get turned on. You feel like a car engine, revved up and ready to fuck some miles into him.

“Alright, it’ll be right out,” you reply with a playful smile, shoving the notepad and pen back into your apron before making your way back to the kitchen. Your hips sway as you walk away, the string of your apron slapping against your ass with each step.

Jake’s eyes are glued to you, mentally undressing you from across the room. He’s really hungry now, but not for the food.

—

20 minutes have passed and you’re still not back with his food. Jake isn’t the type to complain, but he knows it never takes you this long. Loud beeping rings throughout the diner, followed by a loud yell from the kitchen, “Ow! Fuck!” Metal clangs on the floor shortly after, a string of cuss words coming from you.

Jake’s natural instinct is to get up and check on you, but you come out from the kitchen before he can act on it. You’re pressing a cold, wet towel on your hand, “Sorry, it’s gonna be a while. The fryer’s been acting up all day and it just turned off. I burnt myself trying to fix it, but I popped your fries in the oven instead, okay?”

Jake sees the opportunity and takes it, “No problem. I can take a look at it if you want?” He’s an extremely handy man, and he’s hoping to get handsy with you if he plays his cards right.

“At what?” you ask confused, applying pressure to your hand.

“The fryer. I can try to fix it. It’ll only take a few minutes,” he replies, using his hands to push himself out of the booth. Before you can protest, Jake begins walking to the kitchen. His dirty work boots leave a trail of footprints on the floor as you follow closely behind, trying to keep up with his long strides. He quickly finds the fryer, following the smell of gas until he locates the source.

“No, it’s okay! I’ll just put in a work order,” you reason, watching as he kneels in front of the machine. You were beginning to panic, no one other than employees were allowed in the kitchen. What if your boss suddenly showed up and found him back here? Not to mention how unsanitary it was for him to be touching everything with his soiled hands.

“Yeah? And when will they finally come fix it?”

The question has you stumped, causing you to think for a while. The maintenance men usually didn’t come until weeks after the initial work order was put in, and working without a fryer for that long sounded like actual hell. That didn’t mean you wanted a customer working while on their lunch break, “Probably a couple of weeks, but it’s okay. It’s not a big deal, really!”

Your words fall on deaf ears though because Jake is opening the fryer hatch, a whiff of cooking oil and gas hitting him straight in the face. From that smell alone he immediately knew the problem, “Yeah, see, the gas line isn’t connected. One stray spark and this whole place is blowing up.”

Jake’s used to working in much hotter temperatures, surrounded daily by the summer weather and even hotter car engines. So, although the fryer is emitting a lot of heat, it’s nothing compared to what he deals with daily. He manages to find the main gas line, turning the nob off to ensure there isn’t any other leaks. After that, he swiftly turns the machine off before unscrewing a hot, black tube. He pulls the black tube off with a grunt, causing a loud hissing noise as the last bits of gas spill out.

“How do you know it’s the gas line?” you ask curiously, blissfully unaware and nose blind to the smell. “The smell,” he replies blatantly, strong hands removing random pieces from the machine. Well they were random to you, but Jake seemed to know the purpose of each piece.

The oven dings faintly in the background, indicating that the fries are finally done baking. You would love to stay and watch his arms flex as he worked, but you didn’t want to cause another hazard, “I’ll be back, those are the fries. I don’t want them to burn.”

He hums in response, the sound being followed by another animalistic grunt. You feel your core clench at the sound, there was something about him that made you want to push him to the ground and get messy.

You force yourself to look away, finally walking over to the oven to retrieve the fries before they burn.

—

The fryer was worse than either of you anticipated, causing Jake to spend more than a ‘few minutes’ working on it. He’s lying face up on the floor to get a better view, a broken down cardboard box is sprawled out under him to serve as a cushion and as a barrier from the cold floor.

Luckily you’ve only had one other customer since then and all they ordered was a drink, so you’ve been able to watch Jake work this entire time. Your pussy is throbbing at the possibilities, your mind delving into uncharted territory as you imagine what he’d look like under you.

Jake’s hips buck upward as he adjust himself, pushing himself further into the machine each time. Your eyes fall onto his crotch every time, you can’t help but stare and salivate at the growing bulge. He knows you’re watching and it’s turning him on.

“Here, hold this piece right… there,” he instructs, voice trailing off as his fingers pinch a wire in place. You comply, scooting closer so you can properly hold the wire in place. The position is uncomfortable though, your legs struggling to remain in place as you try not to fall on Jake.

After a while your legs start to hurt, trembling from the constant strain. “I can’t reach,” you explain, attempting to shift your weight so you’re comfortable.

Jake lifts his head up, careful not to hit it against the metal above him, as he peers at you. You were awkwardly reaching over him, one hand gripping onto the edge of the fryer as the other stretched to properly hold the wire in place. He looks down at your legs, watching as they shake before he accidentally catches a glimpse of your underwear.

“Here, just…” he begins to say, forgetting his sentence as his mind fills with sinful thoughts of you. He places his tools on the ground before taking a hold of your waist, dirty fingerprints immediately soaking into the fabric of your dress. He uses his hands to carefully guide you over him, stopping once you’re situated directly above his crotch.

“Try again,” he instructs, forcing himself to think about anything other than the newfound pressure you’re applying to him. You reposition the wire with your right hand, your left hand resting on Jake’s chest for support. Once the wire is in place, he scoots forward, his hips bucking up again as he does it. The rough material of his jeans rubs against your clothed pussy, causing you to squirm from above him. You’re forced to bite back a whine, realizing that this was not the time nor the place to be getting all riled up.

Jake is extremely concentrated, choosing to ignore the growing erection in his pants. “Hand me the pliers,” he says, but it comes out more like a command. His toolbox sits next to you, the short distance being close enough for you rummage through it quickly. You subconsciously grind down on his crotch, surprised to feel the outline of his dick through the thick material of his jeans.

His hands instinctively travel to your hips again, a firm grip willing you to stop your movements. “Sorry,” you murmur, becoming drunk on the idea of Jake fucking you long and hard on the kitchen floor.

Jake lets out a small groan, the innocence in your voice seducing him even further. “Here,” you whisper, eyes locking with his for a second through your long, thick eyelashes. He takes the pliers from you, forcing himself to return to the task at hand.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You squirm from above him, wiggling so you can feel him again. Usually you wouldn’t be this bold, but your pussy is hungry and your mind is drunk. Jake chases the feeling too, wishing there was nothing to restrict him from feeling you entirely.

“Don’t look at you like what?”

“Like you want to fuck me,” he replies sternly, the heels of his boots digging into the floor as he drags himself out from under the fryer. The cardboard makes it easier for him to slide out and he’s strong enough to bring you with him, eliciting a gasp from you as you place your hands on his chest to anchor yourself.

He sits up, his left arm immediately wrapping around your waist in the process. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, princess,” he smirks, pushing you down onto his crotch.

Your hands gingerly rest on his shoulders as you look at him through hooded eyes, were you really going to do this? The sexual tension is blinding you, causing you to make yet another bold remark.

“What if I do want to fuck you?”

“That’s fine, baby. Just don’t complain when it gets messy,” he replies coyly, pulling you further into him. Jake’s plump lips latch onto yours, metal lip rings digging into your face. The pain only eggs you on, your hands traveling up his neck and tangling into his hair.

“So eager,” he murmurs into the kiss, scrunching your dress up around your abdomen. His hands find your ass, slapping and kneading the skin in his firm grip. Moans are slipping from you, all of them being swallowed by Jake as he hungrily kisses you back. Your hips grind onto him again, desperate for release.

You’re whimpering, trying to feel as much of him as possible through the multiple layers of fabric that separate you. “Patience, baby,” he moans, but even he’s becoming impatient.

It comes to no surprise when you scoot back onto his thigh and feverishly unzip his pants, he doesn’t protest either, instead he watches eagerly. You make swift work of his pants, Jake lifts his hips to help you tug them off. “I want you to make a mess on my face,” you whisper, hopping off of Jake’s lap so you can wiggle further down.

The suggestion makes Jake’s dick twitch, precum spilling out from the tip and soaking into his boxers. You pull his boxers down and they pool around his ankles alongside his pants. His dick stands up straight, and it’s so big you begin to wonder if this was a good idea. How was that supposed to fit inside of you?

Jake knows exactly what you’re thinking, smirking at the sight of you gawking over the size of his cock. You’re brave though, so you crawl closer to him and slowly begin pumping his shaft. His head is immediately thrown back in pleasure, your touch alone almost being enough for him to spill his seed onto your hand.

You wrap your lips around the tip, your head inching down to the base slowly. If you go any faster, you’ll surely gag around his cock and start crying. “Just like that,” he groans, swooping some of your hair out of your face with one hand as the other holds his dick in place for you. Your lips kiss his hand as you take as much of his as possible, your throat struggling to keep up with the sheer size of him.

His hips thrust into your mouth, eliciting a gag from you that flips a switch in Jake. He wants to hear that sound again and again, so he holds your head firmly and guides it up and down his cock repeatedly. Each time you reach the tip, you gasp for air before he’s pushing you back down again. Saliva is dripping down your chin and bubbling at the corners of your mouth, tricking far enough to coat Jake’s penis entirely.

“Making such a big mess, beautiful,” he grunts, pulling you away from him to get a better look at your face. Streaks of mascara run down your face, your hair is all over the place, and saliva is actively dribbling down your chin. “Come here, let me ruin you,” he instructs, pulling you back down so he can coat your face and uniform in his cum.

He pumps his cock aggressively over your face, watching with a slack jaw as you close your eyes and allow his cum to paint your face. You’re glazed in the liquid, squealing slightly at the new sensation. “Yummy,” you giggle, licking your lips to gather as much of it on your tongue as possible.

Jake isn’t done though, he’s fully prepared to go another round with you, but this time with his dick balls deep in you. Right as you’re about to continue, you hear the front doorbell ring.

“Hello?” a customer asks, peering over the counter in search of an employee. Luckily, because you’re on the floor, you’re perfectly out of view. Jake gets an idea, immediately pulling you onto his lap and pushing your panties to the side so aggressively they rip.

“Sit,” he commands, aligning his cock with your entrance. You look at him in shock and whisper shout, “there’s a customer!” He’s unrelenting, dragging the tip of his cock up your folds as a response. You bite your lip, accepting the challenge as you sit on his thick dick.

A small gasp escapes your mouth once you bottom out, the girth of his cock stretching your walls.

“Hello? Anybody there?!” The customer shouts, tiptoeing to see behind the order window and into the kitchen. They’re becoming more and more impatient by the second.

You begin bouncing on Jake’s dick, his hands leaving prints all over your dress. You’re a whimpering mess, the stretch being both pleasureful and painful.

“C’mon, princess, is anybody there?” he taunts, sucking on the skin of your neck. You pull him in closer by his neck, moaning into his ear as quietly as possible.

“I just want a coffee!” the customer pleads, still trying to find at least one employee. Jake slaps your ass, silently instructing you to respond.

“Take a seat! I’ll be right with you,” you squeak out, trying not to sound like you’re getting your brains fucked out. Jake is satisfied with your response, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you down harder on him.

“You’re making me wait for a coffee?!”

Jake’s angles you forward so he can fuck you harder, his head resting on your chest. “I’m fixing the- fuck,” you begin, but Jake hits a spot inside of you that has you clenching around him. “What are you fixing?” Jake questions, loving how flustered you are.

“I’m fixing the fryer,” you spew out, the lame excuse annoying the customer further. The euphoric feeling in your pussy is enough to wash away any anxiety you feel, your walls clenching around Jake with each thrust.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he moans, his orgasm from earlier catching up to him. “Cum in me,” you demand, so drunk off his dick that you don’t realize what you said. The idea is enticing, so enticing that Jake doesn’t second guess it either.

One last thrust has him spilling his hot seed inside of you, the warm feeling sending you over the edge shortly after.

“Just a coffee! UNBELIEVABLE.”

“I’m coming,” you yelp, as your orgasm washes over you. You’re whimpering, moaning, and panting as you convulse around Jake’s cock. The statement puts a smirk on his face, you were definitely coming.

Once you come down from your orgasm, Jake is pulling you off of him slowly. You look like a beautiful mess. White liquid drips from your hole down your thighs, your underwear is ripped, your dress is stained from Jake’s oily hands, streaks of mascara run down your cheeks, your face is coated in cum, and your hair is tangled.

“Go get him his coffee,” Jake teases, watching as you slowly realize how crazy you look right now. He slaps your ass one last time before you’re hopping off of him, adjusting your dress and smoothing your hair down haphazardly.

You grab a napkin, running it across your face as you try and clean yourself up as best as possible. It’s no use, you look a mess. Without another word, you’re stumbling out into the lobby.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

BARK BARK BARK

First Jake story

MeOWWWWW

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1963 Pontiac Tempest 421 Super Duty station wagon

1963 Tempest 421 Super Duty station wagon. Pontiac produced 12 of these hand-built race cars (6 Le Mans Coupes, 6 Tempest Station Wagons) for NHRA competition. All 12 cars had aluminum front ends (hood, fenders, valance, grill surrounds, core support), aluminum radiators, plexiglass windshield, lightweight bumpers, and they were built without sound deadener, seam sealer, radios, or heaters. The cars still used the Tempest transaxle setup, modified to handle the torque of the mighty 421SD, and had the factory "326" engine callout badges installed. 

The transmission for these 12 cars was unique. The flexible driveshaft, or "rope" driveshaft as it's sometimes called, sent power back to a heavily modified transaxle that consisted of a standard aluminum automatic transaxle case, a modified cast-iron differential carrier, and a ***second*** aluminum case bolted to the back of the differential carrier to provide a total of ***four ***forward gears. The transaxle was longer than stock (about 18") which required a notch in the gas tank. You used a clutch to get moving, but then you shifted without the clutch. It was sort of a manual-automatic. 

The 421SD was (underrated) at 405 hp, and this monster engine, placed in the small Tempest body with extra lightening provided by Pontiac engineering, was a lethal combination on the dragstrip. .

[undertheorangetree]

La Petite Mort (Ptolemaea)

Summary- Aemond has waited generations for this moment and he will not let it slip through his fingers.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ DDDNE. DUBCON. NSFW. Female reader. Dark Aemond. Blood. Gore. Kidnapping. Obsessive behaviour. Vampire mind control? Reincarnation. Biting. Vampire venom makes you horny. Fingering. Cunnilingus. P in V sex. Overstimulation. Technically character death. This is unhinged.

Author’s Note- It’s a spooky season special and I’m so nervous about this one besties. I know that vampire Aemond is a whole thing but it’s a thing for a reason that’s just his vibe. This is darker than usual so plz read the warnings and read at your own risk. Also special thanks to @aegonx for beta-ing for me ilysm🫶🏼The rest is on AO3 link belowww

dividers by me lmao

She knows she's screwed when her car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, but her phone battery dying all but confirms it.

Throwing it into the passenger seat with a guttural sigh, she drops her head into her hands and fights the urge to start crying in frustration. She knew that traveling at night was a bad idea but she had managed to talk herself out of her worries, convincing herself that she would be able to make good time with so few cars on the road. She regrets it now, stranded on the shoulder of some half abandoned backroad, no other people or cars in sight. The rain is coming down in buckets, heavy enough that she's surprised that it hasn't yet flooded the street, raindrops pounding on the roof of her car like a drum.

There isn't so much as a porch light back here. Nothing but heavy forest that makes her feel as if she is lost in time and she is sure the longer she is alone, the more likely her mind is to play tricks on her.

She flicks on her hazard lights as she tries to decide what best to do. Staying in her car seems unsafe somehow, stuck on the shoulder of the road beside a corner. Though the street is empty now, another car will show up at some point and she can already see the inevitable car crash in her mind's eye. But leaving the safety of her car seems just as bad.

She doesn't know what's in the surrounding woods and with visibility as bad as it is now, with the rain coming down and the moon just barely able to provide some semblance of light, there is no truly safe option.

There are no nearby homes. No other cars. No payphones or a way to charge her own phone. She is completely and hopelessly stuck.

Though she knows it's pointless, she still reaches for her phone, holding down on the power button in vain. The empty battery graphic flashes up at her, the charging cable beneath it feeling almost mocking now and grunts angrily, throwing it to the side again. But just as she is about to resign herself to a night of sleeping in her car until morning, there is a flash of headlights in her rearview mirror. She pokes her head up, eyebrows furrowed as she turns and watches a car slow until their window is equal to hers, the glass rolling down.

A man's face greets her, one that seems to be about her age. His face is contorted with vague concern as he looks at her, an eyepatch concealing a third of his face. He has a kind of air about him, regal and almost ethereal to the point where it's almost unsettling. It's nearly otherworldly in a way that almost feels... wrong.

Looking at him, she feels a primal lurch in her stomach, as if the man before her isn't quite right. It's no wonder she feels that way, with his near flawless skin and silver hair that must cost a fortune to dye. That's likely no problem, with how expensive his car looks. She thinks it must cost at least four times her own but she's thankful for just how ancient her car is now, rolling the manual crank until there is a large enough crack for her to speak, the rain immediately splattering inside and wetting both her door and face.

"Car trouble?" he asks and she forces a polite smile despite her irritation at her predicament.

"Unfortunately. Do you know if there's a gas station nearby?"

She had already been to a gas station this evening, less than an hour ago. Though her car had shown no signs of betrayal when she had been filling her gas tank, she thinks that it may be too far to walk to now.

The concern on his face morphs into sympathy. "None that will be open so late. Do you know what's wrong with it?"

She gives a frustrated shake of her head. "No idea. It was completely fine and then it just started sputtering and crapped out."

"Have you called a tow truck yet?"

The question makes her pause. As polite as this man has been thus far, she has no interest in informing him that her phone is dead. And though he has given her no reason to think otherwise, his line of questioning is beginning to border on a few too many to be seen as simple concern for a stranger. She wants to believe that is all it is but he's looking at her a little too earnestly for her to ignore, his eyes following her every move as if the rain threatens to shield his view.

"Not yet. I was going to try some friends first, try to save some money. They don't live far from here so I shouldn't have to wait long."

That’s a boldfaced lie but he doesn’t need to know that.

"I wouldn't leave your car here for long if I were you," he warns, turning to look over his shoulder toward the corner. "It would be best to call a tow truck to really save yourself some money. You'll have a couple thousand in damages if you leave it here."

Read the rest here

[farahmoo2]

CALL FOR HUMANITY 🚨🚨

Due to the recent rise in prices caused by the closure of crossings and the lack of new goods coming in, it has become difficult to buy new slippers. This inflation has forced us to continue using old and worn-out slippers, which, despite not matching our taste or providing adequate comfort, remain the only option available to us. We don't know what we'll do when winter arrives and how we'll manage with such worn-out and tattered slippers...

We have had to make slippers manually from car tires; they are not comfortable at all and hurt the feet, but there is no other solution..

We don't know how long this suffering will continue...

3581€/4000€

Can we reach 4k euros today? Not much left please help me every 5 euros can make a big difference

@appsa @jezior0 @tittyinfinity @schoolhater @oddport-academy-with-palestine @a-shade-of-blue @ibtisams @90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @nabulsi @saying @sayruq @sadhoc @brokenbackmountain @cybernot @cyberill @aleciosun @timogsilangan @determinate-negation @luminousrose1 @nesmamomen @dingodad @voidofryu @serica-e @malcriada @sneakerdoodle

[ferraris-gf]

explaining f1: the cars

chassis

modern day f1 cars are constructed from composites of carbon fibre and other ultra-lightweight materials. the minimum weight currently permissible is 740kg including the driver but not the fuel.

engines

as of the 2014 season, all f1 cars have been equipped with turbocharged 1.6 l v6 engines, which were previously banned in 1989. this change gave up to a 29% increase in fuel efficiency.

transmission

f1 cars use highly automated semi-automatic sequential gearboxes, with regulations stating that 8 forward gears and 1 reverse gear must be used, with rear-wheel drive. fully automatic gearboxes are illegal to keep driver skill. the last f1 car fitted with a conventional manual gearbox was the forti fg01 which raced in 1995.

as of 2009, all teams use seamless-shift transmissions, which allow a near instantaneous changing of gears for minimal time loss. shift times for modern f1 cars are in the range of 2-3ms.

steering wheel

the wheel can be used to change gears, adjust the fuel/air mix, change the break balance and call the radio among other things, allowing the driver a huge amount of control. data such as engine rpm, lap times and tyre temperature etc. are displayed.

fuel

the fuel in f1 cars is fairly similar to ordinary petrol.

to make sure teams and fuel suppliers are within regulation, the fia requires fuel teams like shell, petronas etc. to submit samples of the fuels they are providing for races. at any time, fia inspectors can request a sample from the fuelling rig to compare. the teams usually abide by rules but in 1997 mika hakkinen was stripped of his third place finish in spa due to his fuel being the incorrect formula.

tyres

you can read all about tyres in f1 here!

breaks

the brakes used in f1 cars are designed to work in up to 1,000 degrees celsius.

drivers can control brake force to compensate for changes in track condition or fuel load.

notable cars

the victorious red bull racing rb18 from the 2022 season, driven by max verstappen.

the dominant mclaren mp4/4 driven by ayrton senna in 1988.

the highly successful ferrari f2004 driven by micheal schumacher at the 2004 united states grand prix.

the 1994 williams fw15c, widely considered to be one of the most technologically advanced f1 car of all time

the first f1 car to be powered by a turbocharged engine; the 1997 renault rs01.

the lotus 78, which exploited the aerodynamic effects of downforce, or ground effect, which was banned by the fia in 1983 (though it was later brought back for the 2022 season onwards).

the 2009 brawn bgp001, using a 'double diffuser' (to harness downforce) which was banned by the fia in 2011.

[billthedrake]

This is a collaboration that @josmith1718 and I have been working on together for a while. It's a hypnosis themed story, so be forewarned if that's not your thing.

THE PROTOCOL

By JoSmith and Bill Drake

CHAPTER ONE

I came home from work and was ready to unwind when I realized that dad was not there yet. I found it weird because he was usually back before me. Nevertheless, I went inside and began to change out of my suit and put on some shorts before warming up some food. While I was in the kitchen, dad came in and sighed as he usually did. I felt for him, single dad, divorced with a 27-year-old son living at home couldn’t have been easy on him. I did my part to lighten his stress by providing outlets for him to let loose and not be the hardass foreman he was at work at home.

"Welcome home, Dad. How was your day?" I asked as I took out a plate and served him some of the leftover lasagna I warmed up for myself.

"It was horrible, buddy. I need to relax before I start going bald." He came towards me and hugged me. I hugged him back, feeling his hard body gained from years working construction. When we separated, I smiled at him, and he leaned down and gave me a kiss. We made out a bit before he and I separated, and he went to get a beer from the fridge.

"At least you’re home, right?"

"Yeah, with my favorite guy." He replied. He was hot, literally and, well... literally. We had been going through a heatwave and he had to be on site most of the day. I was indoors but even the short distance I had to walk to my car was unbearable with the full suit and tie getup I had to wear for work. I could only imagine him sweating through his plaid shirt, dripping as the sweat traveled down his meaty pecs, down his hairy body….

I’d loved this man ever since I graduated from undergrad. When he divorced the second time, I asked him to move in with me. Sure, the apartment I had at the time was not a mansion, but we made it work. After some years and promotions, we were able to upgrade to a nice home in the suburbs. Dad continued as a foreman, and I stayed in the corporate world until they brought up the opportunity to get my MBA in a top-shelf B-school that my company partnered with.

"How was your day, buddy?" He asked as he was taking a sip from his beer. I shook my head and smiled, "Good, I got an exam tomorrow, but it's nice to have a night off." I was doing grad school part time. It was a great deal: my company was footing the bill and there was an implicit promise of a promotion after. But the evening classes and the weekends devoted to homework were kicking my butt. Thankfully, I had a great support system in my father.

After warming up the food, I brought it to the table, and he and I ate in silence. Dad was always tired, always stressed, and it was hard for me to look at him like that. He'd always warned me not to go into a manual labor profession, and I'd taken every bit of his dreams for my own future and tried to live up to them, and more. When I graduated the first time, I said that this was our degree, not just mine. This new MBA would be just as much as his as it was mine.

When dinner was over, I got the dishes and Dad began to undress, "I’m taking a shower son. I don’t want to keep the scent of the site on me any longer."

"I don’t mind it, dad..." I smirked at him.

He shook his head and came towards me, "You like your old man smelly?" He whispered in a hushed raspy tone.

"You smell like a man, dad." I responded with confidence as I finished unbuttoning his plaid shirt.

"How did I get so lucky with you, bud?" He replied before we began to make out again. My fingers felt his hard rounded muscle, dusted with his fur. Dad was big all over, beefy and strong, but his chest was the centerpiece of it all - big and round pecs that felt like stone beneath my fingers.

We stopped making out and he got on his knees, "My shower can wait but I think my corporate son needs to relax with a nice blowjob from his old man," Dad was rubbing his hand over my bulge before looking up at me again, "let me service this cock, son."

"Aren’t you tired too?" I asked, but selfishly, yeah, I wanted this as well.

"This helps me relax," he smiled and then fished out the cock from shorts and started to blow me. He was skilled, after several years of blowing me, he had learned what I liked. I never got tired of my construction worker father - my tan, muscled, hairy, beefy, sexy construction worker dad, who was more than willing to get on his knees and suck my cock whenever I needed “relaxing.” In my mind, he justified the blowjobs he expertly gave as doing it for “my son’s pleasure, not mine.” That was a facade, since every time he shot his own load, his mouth was connected to my cock. The old man loved sucking my cock just as much as I liked getting blown.

"Dad, I’m getting close, Dad, fuck, I’m getting—"

I shot and my dad greedily sucked and sucked until every drop was in his mouth and down his throat.

"Good load, buddy,” he grinned as he leaned back, a proud smile on his gruffly handsome mug. “Now, time to take my shower." He kissed my cock and got up to head to the master bathroom.

The sex was great, incredible as always, but I still kept thinking about how stressed Dad had become. That evening, I talked to him about letting me have more of the responsibility of the house and its finances. I told him that I could pitch in more, and I'd tried to get him to talk about finances. Maybe it was putting the cart before the horse, but in my head, I'd be earning a lot more by 30 and ready to ensure dad and I were financially stable enough for him to look for something more relaxed or retire outright.

I was ready to make sure dad was not so stressed all the time.

"Buddy, it’s fine how things are. I’m fine." He said, but then I continued.

"Dad, you’re stressed, and I don’t blame you at all. I have enough money to make sure that we can live comfortably. Especially after this promotion, you could potentially retire."

"I don’t..." he started to object. Then he sat back up and took off the reading glasses he had on to read his iPad, "Son, I’m happy. Being with you, making sure you’re happy, I’m fine. No need to worry about me. I’m your dad, that’s my job."

"And my job as your son is to make sure you are happy too. I’m not happy to see you so stressed." I got closer to him and began to fondle his pecs and nipples, "This, us, I’m happy... but seeing you stress over bills, that does not make me happy."

He took in what I was saying but was stubborn ol’ Dad. "In some ways, I’m old school. I am the father so that means I oversee the finances and everything that has to do with the household. I can’t just let it go…"

"You are in charge of people at work all the time. You have a lot of responsibility; I can take some for you dad. I want to do that for you. Think about it, yeah?"

"You’re so good to me, son." He kissed me before he traveled down my body, ready to give me another blowjob, "You gonna give me something to help me have a good night sleep?" He winked at me. Then I felt my dad's wet lips and soft tongue start working my hardon again. As he slowly sucked and bobbed and then went further down on me, I tried to rack my brain to remember the last day the man hadn't gotten me off at least twice.

I couldn't remember.

I was damn lucky.

***

We didn’t talk about finances anymore and went back to the same routine. Dad was great and loving, but he was also a stubborn man. Maybe I'd inherited his stubborn streak, too.

In the spring I graduated and got my promotion at work officially. I was to get a raise and a new office. It was something I was excited for. I was already doing some of the work of the new position to get used to the new processes, but as soon as my contract was renewed and everything was official, I invited dad to see my new office. He came wearing a plaid shirt and dark jeans.

"Wow, my son, the executive." He was impressed.

"Junior executive," I corrected him. Mind you, my company handed out VP titles like candy, but I was proud and prouder that Dad was proud. I closed the door and lowered the blinds. It was late afternoon, and most people were leaving, but I wanted to show Dad that everything he and I worked for was beginning to pay off.

He turned around and damned if he didn’t tackle me to the wall. He was kissing me, groping me and pawing at my body.

"You look so fucking handsome in your suit and tie, buddy." He whispered as he felt the silk tie he had given me for one of my birthdays.

I bit my lip, "Dad..." My heart was beating fast and the anticipation of what was going to happen was beginning to make me get a hardon in my dress slacks.

"Let me show you how proud I am of you buddy." He whispered and then undid his shirt, button by button, he slowly began to reveal that beautiful hairy body and got on his knees. He undid the zipper of my slacks and fished out my cock, "Executive cock… fucking A, son... you’re making one of my fantasies come true."

Up until now, I thought his career dreams for me were about my financial success in life, but I was starting to get the feeling my father was into professional dudes. The fact I was his flesh and blood made his turn-on that much deeper.

The big man took his time, it was a slow session, edging me as I stayed pressed against the wall. I took off my tie and put it around his neck. We had never done something like this and since it was a first, I gave it a shot. We were pretty vanilla, more so because I could tell dad had hang ups. My old man was momentarily surprised but growled as I slipped the silk tighter around his neck. I tightened the tie and pulled him towards my cock. He got into it, doubling his efforts as I messed up his hair, "Come on, dad, suck your boy’s cock."

He nodded.

"You like that?" I growled. "Your son, the executive, is making you into his personal fleshlight."

That got a deep, heavy moan from the guy. I got rock fucking hard. In all our time together, I never got verbal like this. I never imagined my buddy-buddy blue-collar dad would be remotely into it. This was new territory for both of us. His reaction, the intensity of his blowjob, I couldn’t handle it and blew in his mouth. It felt like an eternity, but he continued to suck until every drop was taken in. When he took my cock from his mouth, some spit got on his chest. I got on my knees and rubbed the saliva all over his hairy pecs and munched on his nipples.

"Buddy..." He cradled my head, applying slight pressure to get me to bite his nipple more.

I bit and pulled; dad groaned but he never told me to stop. He pulled me up and kissed me deeply. I took off my suit jacket and rolled on the floor with him, making out, celebrating this new phase in our life.

We stopped when we heard a knock on the door telling me goodnight. I said good night, my voice hoarse but as soon as I cleared my throat, I said goodnight again and saw dad catching his breath against the wall.

I crawled and stayed next to him until I spoke, "So this was a fantasy of yours?" I asked. My white shirt was wrinkled, my suit jacket discarded on the floor, my pants dirty from the fibers of the carpet. My face flushed from a good rutting. Dad looked at me and responded with a "Yeah," with an uncharacteristic blush.

"What else do you fantasize about, dad?" I asked as he rubbed his palm. He stayed quiet but I began to get an idea when I saw the red tie near him.

"I don't know, Kyle" he began, "You gonna think less of me, son?"

"Course not," I replied. We’d been carrying on our crazy father-son affair for years, and it blew my mind that there was more to discover.

He nodded and ran his fingers along my dress shirt. "When you took control... that was very hot."

I grabbed his hand, caressing it with my fingers as he felt me up. I wasn't going soft and worried I wouldn't soon. "That turned me on, too, Dad. Maybe a little too much."

He gave me a concerned look. "We don't gotta, Kyle."

I patted his hand. "Believe me, Dad. I wanna. Just don't want you to feel less than… y’know," I laughed.

He laughed along. "Well, let's talk about more at home, OK, buddy?"

I straightened up as best as I could. I was still quite disheveled, and dad was too, but we made do with what we had and left the office smelling of sex. I left the door ajar hoping to air out some of the scent. Hopefully the cleaning people would not suspect anything. Office sex may have been risky, but I knew I'd be wanting to do that again. And from the glint in Dad's eye, I suspected he was thinking the same thing.

We picked up some takeout and a six pack on the way home. I always shuddered when we pulled up into our suburban driveway, looking like a normal son who's a temporary roommate with his father to save some money, or biding my time till I met the right girl. On the other hand, we did move to a suburb where no one knew us and could only assume who we were. No one ever asked us, and we never clarified. There was a mystery surrounding us and that made it hotter for me. Inside this home, we were father and son but so much more. Maybe even husbands someday…

After dinner, I brought up finances again. We were doing good month-by-month, but I knew we could refinance the mortgage, invest our spare cash more wisely, and start stocking away extra for our future. Dad still bristled at my bossy tendencies when it came to money. He had the experience of raising a family and being man of the house when I was growing up, but I knew more about personal finance. I just wanted him to not need to burden so much by himself.

Still, he was more open to it this time. Not saying no outright. Asking me questions. Not giving up control, but not being the normal Brian Peterson.

But even as we talked about the dullest, most boring stuff possible, his eyes shifting, looking at me with… lust. In the mood for round two or maybe he was just responding to my own lust for him. Having Dad around, living with him, supercharged my sex drive.

He finished off his beer and shot me a smirk. "Feel like hitting the bed a little earlier tonight, buddy?" he asked.

I think the office sex had amped up his libido. Me, I was just horny. "Yah," I said.

We both got up from the table and it was unmistakable, both Peterson men were horned up. My cock strained my shorts and dad had opted to go pantless, only wearing boxer briefs and an old college t-shirt of mine. Every time this man wore my clothes, it made me feel closer to him.

Something was different that night. As we headed to our room, not saying anything, there was a feeling that something had shifted. The atmosphere was supercharged, I felt warm and giddy. Dad kept looking at me and smirking that goddamn sexy smirk. Once in the room, we planted ourselves to opposite sides of the bed and did a slow strip tease for one another.

Dad had refused to go into detail about his and Mom's relationship ("too close to home, buddy"), but I gathered his second wife didn't like how much of a sex drive Dad had. She was fucking crazy, I thought, as I watched him peel off my shirt that was snug on his frame and slowly lower his underwear.

"Fuck, you have a beautiful cock, son," he hissed as I finally slipped out of my briefs. I had inherited dad's length, but had some extra girth. A lot of extra girth, to be truthful. I'm not sure where it came from, but my father seemed to enjoy it.

He kicked off his underwear and joined me naked on the bed a few seconds after I'd climbed onto the mattress. Our bodies connected and we kissed, making our way to a fully reclined position to make out. It was electric. There was never a moment in all this time we were together where the kiss lacked chemistry or passion. This man had the most talented mouth on a construction worker. His kisses were everything you read about in the hottest erotica or saw in movies.

In the midst of the make out session, I ended on top of him. My body on his, his hands on my back pulling me closer to him. His groans of pleasure as I placed my weight on him. I don't know if I took the initiative to roll on top of him, or Dad pulled me into that position. Nevertheless, my mind wandered to what he was thinking. I thought maybe he'd ask me to fuck his face. I had to go easy with that but occasionally he was in the mood for that. That was as far as ‘kinky’ our sex would get.

"You wanna fuck me, Kyle?" Dad asked. Paternal, friendly, and vulnerable all at once. I looked at him and if he wanted to know, my twitching cock on his was answer enough.

We'd tried that a couple of times. Dad at first swore that wasn't for him. Neither of my attempts was successful, it just hurt too much attempting to breach the tightness of his cherry. I didn't harp on it, or press it, but Dad knew the idea turned me on. "Yeah?" I asked, surprised.

"Go slow, OK?" He urged.

"God, yeah," I grunted. I kissed him deeply then started kissing along his neck and upper body, gradually working my way down.

Dad realized I was going to try to rim him. His hand reached out to stop me. "Don't think I'm up for that buddy. Sorry," he said.

I looked into his eyes. Those loving fatherly eyes. The man treated me right every night, and I wanted to make sure he was into every bit of this. "Sure thing, Dad," I replied. I reached for the lube I used on the rare occasions I had to stroke off on my own. Like I say, it had been a while.

I guess the stuff doesn't go bad, I thought, as I undid the cap and squirted some on my fingers. Then more.

My fingering was slow, real slow. Dad hissed some but seemed OK with it. I even got two fingers in and out easy as anything and had my father's hole stretched around a third. It was time.

I lubed up and scooted in place. Dad complied by pulling his legs back and wide, showing off his mature, furry hole that was like a hit of poppers to me. Or coke. Or heroin, or something. I just knew my dick was rock hard seeing that unviolated dad pucker and my thick dick lining up for it.

I went as gently as I could, nudging, teasing that ring before applying some real pressure.

"Oh fuck, slow!" Dad gasped. His hand reached out to touch my chest, stopping me, and his eyes looked up in a plea. I bit my lip and took a deep breath and backed off a bit.

I nodded and realized I'd have to take it slower. I leaned in and made out with him, trying to get his mind off the pain. That seemed to relax the big guy. His beefy body relaxed on the bed beneath me. I tried not to break the kiss as I tried again. Even slower.

Fuck, it didn't work. Dad let out a yelp like I'd stabbed him. "God, that fucking hurts," he cried as he broke our kiss. No more pleading in his eyes, just a lot of pain and frustration.

I rolled off him. My hardon was gone, replaced by my concern for him.

"Sorry, Kyle," he said, softly, contritely. "I know you wanted it, bad."

I sighed. "Come on, Dad. You gotta want it, too. If I wanted to fuck something not invested in it, I’d buy a blow up doll."

He turned and faced me, a hangdog look on his gruff face. "That's the thing, son. I do want it. I want to make you happy, give you that pleasure. It's just... my body doesn't seem to cooperate." He looked down at my softened dick. "I guess I kind of killed the mood, huh?"

"You didn't kill anything, Dad," I said, pulling him into a soft kiss. It was a romantic, reassuring kiss, but pretty soon we got each other worked up again. Before I knew it, I was rock hard. And Dad's fist circling around it felt amazing with the lube job I'd given myself.

"Damn," I hissed, pulling back and looking down to where Dad was giving me a hand job. We'd never done this and while it would probably never be my preferred sex act, it felt amazing just then.

"You like that buddy?" Dad growled playfully, his breath on my ear, his tongue flicking at the earlobe as his fist continued working my tool. "Fuck... I love taking care of my boy." He admitted aloud.

I turned to look at him and he held his gaze on me. I loved this man and even more because he wanted to give me his all. "You’ll take care of me, right dad?" I asked, gulping at my question. Involuntarily I thrust some into his greased fist.

"Let your old man take care of you son. That’s my job, to make sure you’re satisfied." Dad pumped me some more, looking down at my meat before looking back up at me. "Earlier, bud... when you were on top of me.... I was so fucking proud of my hot executive son.... ready to take charge."

"Oh shit," I gulped. I didn't feel like I was taking charge then. Dad was playing me like a fiddle, just like he was playing with my cock.

His lips formed a sexy leer. "You like that, huh, son? Being in charge?"

"Hell yes," I replied, gaining my voice and admitting the fantasy that had been latent. Dad was tapping into it big time that day. "I don't mean any disrespect to you, sir," I said. I hadn't called him Sir since I was like 16. But the emotions were pouring out. "But that idea.... of being man of the house... oh fuck!"

My cum was shooting. I knew I was on the edge but that orgasm hit hard and fast, by surprise.

"Shoot it, buddy!" Dad encouraged, milking me harder. "My hot fucking stud."

I felt like I had left my body how hard this orgasm had been, feeling a sudden lassitude hit me with the post-coital endorphins. My body jerked as I felt Dad kiss my belly and lick up my jets of semen. Then I felt his mouth encircle my prick, unconcerned about the lube there. Sucking me all the way down. I had a reflexive reaction to the overstimulation and almost pushed Dad off.

But the second I touched his shoulder; I had second thoughts. I knew the sensitivity would go away and that I'd enjoy another BJ. I circled my dad's delt muscle and held him to work him up and down my bone.

***

It was the weekend before Dad brought up the idea.

"Kyle... you got a minute?" he asked as I came in from mowing the lawn. We split the household duties, but given that dad worked hard in the hot sun day in and day out, I tried to tackle the major yard work.

"Yeah, Dad... what's up?"

He got me a cold soda from the fridge and pulled up a chair to our kitchen island where we had a lot of our meals. Dad had a barely concealed look of excitement on his face as he started in.

"So I've been thinking... I guess I have a lot of hang ups when it comes to sex...."

I laughed. "Dad, you're the last guy I'd say has any hang ups." I mean, the guy had blown me in the shower that morning. And then asked if I wanted seconds. "Seriously, you're incredible."

He grinned, pleased at the compliment. But he continued. "I do though. The other night, I really wanted to bottom for you. But I just have a hard time giving up control."

I grimaced. "Dad we don't gotta. If it's not fun for both of us, I don't wanna do it."

Dad was anticipating that answer. "Tell me the truth, Kyle. Would you enjoy fucking me, right?"

I didn't have to ponder the answer. "I would," I admitted. "That doesn't mean..." I started.

Dad interrupted. "Buddy, of course we don't gotta.. But I think I found a solution." He picked up his iPad and clicked on the screen then pushed it my way.

There was a webpage with big bold lettering. "HYPNOTHERAPY..., a way to take back control of your life by using our services. You too can overcome challenges and learned behaviors stopping you from being the best you."

Dad watched excitedly as I read it. "I found them through an online forum…" I raised my eyebrow and he blushed, "I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, buddy… I want to be able to give you my all and found a forum with guys with similar issues as mine, unable to bottom for their partner and well… A lot of services don't let you use it for sex therapy, but several guys had good experience with this company. Said it was worth every penny."

"You want me to undergo hypnosis?" I asked slowly. I loved my dad but sometimes he could have wacky ideas.

He chuckled and shook his head, "No buddy, I want you to hypnotize me. You know, kind of get me past my mental roadblocks."

God, he was serious. I felt a flush of heat. There was something powerfully hot about the idea, but it also felt wrong. "Dad, I don’t know that it works like that."

"Won't you even fucking give it a try?" I'd never seen Dad upset at me like this, at least not in a while. "Listen... I called them and they assured me that they could do virtual training if need be." He was giving me that hangdog look of his that was hard to say no to. "It'd be an hour consultation with me and then a three-hour mini course for you. I figure after all those econ classes you'd be a quick study," he smirked.

"I'll think about it," I said.

That seemed to cheer him up and he stood up and came over and patted my shoulder. "Love ya so much, buddy," he said. "I just want to find a way to make you happy."

"You do, Dad," I replied then felt his strong muscle get closer behind me and his hand travel down my sweaty T-shirt, feeling up my chest muscle. I thought Dad had drained me pretty good earlier but I was boning up, fast. "Dad... when was the last time you edged me?"

I heard his soft chuckle. "Beats me, buddy... beach vacation last year?" He patted my pec muscle and gave my head a soft kiss. "Why don't you go shower up? I'll put on a Sox game and we'll see if I can get you to hold off blasting till the eighth inning, OK?"

I laughed and turned around to meet his kiss.

***

The next day Dad went into my home office, shut the door and did his one-on-one consultation. I spent the afternoon online with a mild-mannered guy. Handsome dude in his early 30s, he had that tech-bro attire on, but he had a way of making me feel at ease with him. He asked me about myself and my goals in life. We hadn't told the company we were father and son of course, but I talked in general terms about my relationship with Dad.

"Would you say he was a father figure for you? In your relationship..." His tone wasn't judgmental.

"Definitely," I said, and he nodded, writing some stuff down.

Then it was twenty questions about our sex life. I hesitated at first but decided to be honest and do this, for Dad.

That was the first hour. The next hour was the man describing the process - the Protocol as he called it. Dad would be asked to listen regularly to a recording, a mix of repeated words and white noise. I was given the trigger words and told how and when to use them. Beyond that there was a general script, but Tech Bro told me I’d have to use and adapt it, almost improvise. It was a method more than anything.

“It’s easier than it sounds, Kyle,” he explained. “You’re in finance right? Think of it as a flow chart or business strategy plan. You respond to Brian’s psyche.”

The man warned me about what not to do, but also allayed my concerns. "Kyle, Brian is doing this because he wants to. You can't make him do what he doesn't want to, deep down. Just remember that."

"Yeah," I said, trying to convince myself. Part of me was convinced this was all a sham and it wouldn't work. And part of me was afraid it would work all too well.

"I believe you're going to enjoy this, too," he finally said. I kind of zoned out a little, because the next thing I remember was the Tech Bro's voice. "You feeling relaxed?"

"Yeah, I am," I replied.

"Good," he said. I've sent you the link to a recorded video that will walk you through the hypnosis you're going to perform on Brian. Watch a few times before you actually do it."

With that, he signed off.

***

I gave it a week. Each night, Dad would come home, tired from work. We'd have dinner, he'd blow me and the hour before bed, he'd listen to the recording, headphones on as he lay on the couch, eyes closed. I took the time to review the instructional video.

On Friday, I got an email from the company. "Watch this and you'll be ready."

I found myself surprisingly thrilled to click the link. It was a video conference recording, only with my dad in center frame. The familiar bookshelves and posters from my home office were in the background, and I realized it was from Dad's initial consultation. Only the video started halfway in, after the preliminaries.

The man's voice was a different man’s, deeper and more seductive and monotone. "That's it, Brian... let those eyelids get heavier and heavier.... don't need to fight it. Just let it feel good."

Dad nodded and as the voice droned on in its hypnosis chant, I saw him finally relax. At first nothing seemed to be happening but then I saw dad's shoulders lean in and then his head slumped forward.

The voice became more assertive, "Good, Brian. How do you feel?"

"Relaxed..." Dad said in a monotone voice.

"That’s good to hear. Every time you hear the phrase ‘power down’ you will revert to this state, is that clear?"

"Yes..."

I was so fucking hard watching his. Particularly because I realized Dad had given up control for my sake.

"Now, let’s begin…"

I listened to how the man guided dad and how he brought him back. I was jotting down notes. When dad came back to, it was as though he was waking up from a deep sleep.

"How do you feel?"

"Relaxed, as though I just went on vacation. Thank you." Normal Dad voice, groggy from having ‘woken up.’ It was wild seeing that happen. I don’t think my father was just playing along. We were paying good money for this and if it was not working, Dad would say so.

Then the video stopped.

I was horny all afternoon. Dad sensed something was off when I got home. Friday is normally our unofficial dad-son date night. And when Dad came into the living room, he saw I was sitting nervously.

"Something wrong, Kyle?" he asked, unbuttoning his plaid work shirt. It was unusual for Dad to call me by my name unless he was mad, worried or we were at a work event, though those were rare before my promotion.

"Just a tough day at work," I lied. I forced a smile. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll go out and grab a bite."

That seemed to relax Dad as he smiled before turning to go to the room and get ready. He was looking great when he walked back to the living room wearing a clean polo shirt that hugged his beefy body and some jeans.

"Ready son? I'm starving."

I perked up over dinner but when we got home, I patted Dad's meaty shoulder once we walked into the living room. "Power down," I said, my body shaking with the nerves of what I was doing.

I honestly didn't expect this to work as easily as it did, but at hearing his trigger, Dad’s face went slack, his hands dropped to his sides and his eyes became glazed. I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"How do you feel?" I asked. Dad acknowledged the question but did not look at me nor register who I was.

Instead, he answered while concentrating at a point in the distance. "Relaxed and calm..."

I tried to remember the protocol. I was glad I'd watched the instructions multiple times since the words came to me readily; "Good... you know that every time you are in this state, you feel relaxed and calm, correct?"

"Yes... relaxed and calm." God, his voice was so sexy, deep and soft like this.

"Kyle put you in this place because he loves you very much. Repeat after me, ‘Kyle loves me.’"

"Kyle loves me."

"Again."

"Kyle loves me."

"Good. Kyle knows you have a hard time showing him you love him." I had to give the company credit; they'd come up with a hypnosis protocol specifically tailored to our needs.

"I do," Dad's reply came. "I love my boy so much."

My heart pounded. Dad was looking in my direction but not focusing on me as he spoke. He was open to everything I would be saying to him while in this state and he would answer my questions truthfully and with no hesitations.

"How do you want to show him your love, Brian?" It gave me a thrill to call my old man by his first name.

"I want Kyle to fuck me," Dad said simply, "I know that would make him happy."

Pretty much, things had gone to script so far, but the protocol was more about a set of prompts and ways to deal with the truth of the response.

"Will you do that for him?" I asked, a horny knot in my throat. "Will you make your son happy?"

Dad nodded. "I want to, but I couldn't… I can’t."

"Why is that Brian, why can’t you give your son this one thing?"

"Because I'm a man. Men don't get fucked."

Jesus. The man had some issues I wasn't prepared for. But it made sense my butch, blue-collar dad would have some issues about bottoming. I stepped up and touched his face. He didn't flinch and didn't lean into the caress, but he smiled dreamily.

"Kyle is a man, right?" I asked. I was ad adlibbing some, but this was basically following the protocol. Leaning into the resistance.

Dad nodded, "He is. My son is the sexiest man I know."

I was getting rock hard now. I walked backwards as I began to take off my clothes. I rubbed my cock to feed the pleasure and continued.

"You think your son is a sexy man and you love your boy very much… Do you think Kyle should be the one getting fucked instead?" I asked. This wasn't scripted but was part of the jiu jitsu move of taking the man's hangups and using them against him.

Dad's brow creased for a second then the calm returned. "No. Kyle does the fucking."

I was dripping now. I let go of my prick and stepped a little closer. I could smell the Irish Spring or whatever fucking soap he uses at the end of a hard day. "I want you to remember that, Brian," I said. "I want you to remember that Kyle does the fucking."

A part of me felt low for trying to get Dad to put out for me like this. But I remembered what the Tech Bro had said about Dad only doing what he'd want to do deep down.

My father's tranced response was automatic. "Kyle does the fucking."

I nodded. "I want you to think about that. A few times a day at least. Think about your sexy stud of a son. The executive, fucking you, seeing the love you have for him. Show your boy that you love him by giving him what he wants. And when you do, it will give you a sense of happiness and pleasure."

"Happiness and pleasure," he repeated.

"And when you feel him on top of you, his weight on top of you, you will feel safe and content."

"Safe and content."

I wasn't 100 perfectly sure if I was doing this right. Dad was zone out to be sure, but I worried he was just repeating whatever the fuck I said. So, I asked, "Why is that?"

Dad's answer had surprising clarity, as it was his normal voice speaking to me. "Because my son is a man. And men fuck, men don't get fucked."

Maybe it would take me a while to deprogram that nonsense from him, but a shallow side of me was getting turned on by the way Dad talked in such primitive, black-and-white terms about fucking.

"Good," I instructed. "Now..." It was time to return to the Protocol. "I want you to envision an empty room. An empty white room. Totally white. Blindingly white..."

"Yes..."

I moved back away from him, a few paces away.

"Good. I want you to concentrate on my voice. As I begin to count to five, you will be walking towards a door. Kyle will be there, walking with you, making sure you are taken care of."

Dad took a breath and nodded, his big chest rising and falling.

"You do not need to do this alone," I continued. "Kyle will be with you every step of the way. I’m going to count to five and once I get there, I want you see the door. When we get to the door, I’ll tell you what will happen next." Dad didn’t respond but nodded as he began to concentrate on what I was saying.

"One... you are walking forward..." Dad began to walk towards me, "two... you are reaching out to hold Kyle’s hands, he alone brings you comfort and relaxation..." Dad reached towards me and soon as my hands touched his, he held on to them with a firm grip... "three, we are walking to the door I mentioned. It’s getting closer... four, we are almost to the door... Five, we are here..."

"I can see it," Dad said softly. It's bright but I can see it." His voice was deep but excited.

"Open the door. What do you see?" I asked. The Protocol was about the implantation of a suggestion and the reinforcement of that before the session was over.

"Our bedroom," Dad replied. Again, his voice had a strange clarity. "I'm on it, on my back... and Kyle is fucking me."

I almost came then, but luckily my hand was nowhere near my cock.

"How does that make you feel, getting fucked by your sexy son?" I asked.

"I am relaxed and content… And happy. Kyle is making me happy."

"The same way you feel when you are sucking your son’s cock, worshiping it, making it shoot for you… that’s how it’ll feel when you let yourself get fucked by him… you’ll feel pleasure beyond what you could imagine."

"When he fucks me..." his voice was getting that soft drone like quality again.

One big no they told me was not to have Dad under hypnosis for too long. Especially for the first sessions. It was time to bring him back.

"Good, Brian. Close the door." I saw Dad do the motion of closing the imaginary door hesitantly, he wanted what he saw but until now, that was more of a dream than a reality.

"Think of that moment, Brian. Think how happy you were, how happy you made your son. All that matters now is that you show your love for your son. He deserves it as much as you do, to feel the pleasure only you two can give each other. Understood?"

Dad nodded. I wanted to kiss him, hug him, but I needed to bring him out, "Now, at the count of three, you will follow all my suggestions while you were under. Deep in your mind, you know that Kyle does the fucking and that to show him you love him, you have to let go and give him what he wants… what does he want?"

"To fuck me… fuck his dad…" Dad responded, biting his lip and his cock beginning to get hard.

"Yes, fucking you will give him happiness and bring you pleasure. That’s all you want, as a dad right? Bring happiness to your son?"

"Yes, I want my son to be happy…"

"And your boy wants to give you pleasure."

"Give me pleasure… my boy…"

"Yes. I’m going to count to three and you’ll wake up, not realizing you were under but following all instructions. You will not question why your son is naked and you’re not. Okay, let’s start… One.... you can feel your toes... Two.... your muscles can flex again.... Your breath getting back to normal... Three."

Dad's eyes flicked open with a suddenness that startled me.

"Fuck!" I gasped.

Dad shook out his muscles a little as he refocused on me. I saw him break into a huge smile. "Damn, buddy... looks like you couldn't wait to get me to bed, huh?" He stepped up to me and latched on to my naked muscle as he claimed a quick kiss then crouched down in front of me. Oblivious to the hypnosis he'd just undergone.

I was so primed and hard I had to pull Dad off my prick a couple of times when I was in danger of blowing too soon. And when I finally came, Dad coughed on the load, it was so heavy.

After he swallowed my load, we showered and he kept touchy feely with me, rubbing my shoulders, slapping my ass, and when we went to the living room to watch T.V., he grabbed my feet and rubbed them as he watched the highlights.

Once we went to the room, he asked if he could play with my cock again. I told him I didn’t think I had anything in me, "Come on buddy, one more go before I hit the hay."

I nodded and like a little boy on Christmas morning, he licked his lips and went down to play with his favorite toy. He sucked for almost an hour with breaks in between and when I finally shot, it was not much, but Dad happily drank it down, nevertheless.

[diabolus1exmachina]

Siata 208 CS ( 1 of 6). 

Societá Italiana Auto Trasformazioni Accessori (SIATA) created a marvelous assortment of machinery in its 45-year history under the guidance of the Ambrosini family. Founded by Giorgio Ambrosini in 1926, Siata specialized in performance modifications for Fiats, creating the overhead-valve conversions, multi-speed gearboxes, superchargers, and multi-carb intakes that competitive Italians wanted for their diminutive cars. The Italian auto giant conspicuously ignored—with few exceptions—the high-performance market as the Agnellis concentrated their empire around sensible, reliable, and mass-produced cars of small proportions.Siata received substantial financial assistance from Fiat following the Second World War, and by 1949 they were producing small automobiles which wore custom, house-labeled coachwork. Firmly grafted to Fiat and its engineering, Siata took a giant leap forward with the arrival of Rudolf Hruska in 1950. Hruska had worked in Porsche’s design office before the war and later collaborated with Carlo Abarth on Piero Dusio’s Cisitalia Grand Prix project. Fiat itself plotted its re-entry to the top ranks of Italian performance automobiles in 1950 with the introduction of their two-liter V-8 (dubbed "Otto Vu"), whose development was entrusted to Siata and executed in total secrecy by Hruska’s team.

The unusual oversquare, 70-degree V-8 engine featured all-aluminum castings with wedge-shaped combustion chambers. Induction was through a pair of dual-throat, downdraft Weber carburetors. With its high-revving short-stroke design and 8.5:1 compression ratio, prodigious power was channeled through a four-speed manual gearbox. Hruska planted the engine into a tubular chassis, and this became the basis of Fiat’s 8V.

Debuting at the 1952 Geneva Salon, the 8V caused an absolute sensation perhaps best equated to a meltdown of Italy’s motoring press. For many, the Siata-developed, Fiat-badged supercar defied belief. In particular, the advanced chassis featured a fully independent suspension with coil springs and telescopic shock absorbers at all four corners and was a marvelously sophisticated platform for its time, with supple and predictable handling that amazed drivers accustomed to the rigidly sprung, “flex-framed,” live-axle sports cars of the time.

Approximately 200 Tipo 104 engines were made to supply the 114 8V examples which Fiat ultimately produced. Eighty-five or so surplus engines were thusly returned to Siata, which seized the opportunity to supply them with additional house-made upgrades and implant them into the very chassis from which the earth-shattering Otto Vu had been developed.

The resulting Siata 208 CS was available as an attractive barchetta-like Spider or streamlined berlinetta, which Siata commissioned from a small pool of local coachbuilders including Bertone, Vignale, and Stabilimenti Farina. It is said that Siata openly encouraged the carryover of major styling details which these same companies were providing to Ferrari during the same period.

Perhaps the shapeliest design ever rendered upon the 208 CS, however, was executed by Balbo of Turin. Just nine berlinettas were made, of which only six examples are known to remain extant.

[slutshamethesquirrels]

The Breadline

Ch.1 - The Back Drain

pairing: recovering!line cook!eren yeager x fat! fem! reader TW's: alcoholism, recovery, mentions of abuse, mentions of domestic violence, foster care, child custody, foster system, CPS, mentions of body/weight

You weren’t sure why you didn’t expect the morning to be a mishmash of chaos and disorganization. Ellie, as independent and rambunctious as ever, could not for the life of her pick out an outfit. Or rather, could not suppress her disdain for your choice of outfits. Appearances were important when you were the sole caregiver of a toddler with an open safety and welfare case, but after thirty minutes or so of arguing (when you’d only prepped for ten), you’d decided to let her dress herself, resulting in you practically throwing her at her preschool teacher; adorned in a neon yellow puffer jacket, a thin and ill-fitting costume dress from last halloween (She’d gone as a ladybug), and her favorite baby blue rain boots on the wrong feet. The daycare worker had looked confused, but you didn’t have any time to spare. “I’m not on crack, she’s just a fashion icon-” was the only explanation you offered before giving your sister a small peck on the cheek and practically sprinting back to your car.

You were in a heated race with the clock to get there on time. Your GPS insisted that you would arrive three minutes late, but you were determined to prove it wrong. Channeling your inner Andretti, you whipped around grandmothers and teenagers, keeping an adequate pace with the much larger and more expensive trucks surrounding you despite the uncomfortably loud drone of your engine. Between the combination of your expertise with a general disregard for red lights, you managed to whip into the back parking lot of the flying plate at exactly eight thirty. Knowing that if one more minute managed to pass you would be rejected for the one opportunity the world had so graciously presented you, you flew out of your vehicle in a panic, only bothering to grab your purse and slam the door behind you before running up to the back door and pressing the doorbell for delivery drivers.

Quickly, almost too quickly, the door opened, as if whatever was on the other side had been expecting you to arrive at that exact moment. You could swear the doorbell hadn’t stopped making noise as you stood almost eye to eye with a stranger. He was holding his phone up beside his head with the screen facing you, the time changing from eight thirty to eight thirty one as he sized you up with his eyes. You realized this must be Levi.

He was small, but strangely intimidating, as if god himself had simply denied him his right to height, lest he be too formidable. Your chest heaved from the rush to the door, and you opened your mouth to provide him with a proper introduction through ragged breaths. He didn’t seem to have the patience.

“You’re an ass hair from being late..” he flatly stated, his voice matching the stone gray of his eyes “...and sweaty.”.

“Oh” You looked down at your arms, trying to pull together an excuse other than the truth when he pulled you in another direction yet again.

“No matter, I suppose I didn’t say you couldn’t be any of those things. Follow me.” He pushes the door open for you, but does not hold it, causing you to clumsily shove your larger frame through the door behind him at a disorienting rate. He leads you through a short hallway past an ice machine and a mop station, looking at it with disdain as he passed. He opened another door, this time holding it for you to shuffle through into the world's tiniest office.

Despite the close quarters, the office had not a hair out of place. Security camera monitors adorn the top left corner of the room, all their cords meticulously tucked against the underside of the shelving, where books of manuals and policies were neatly housed and organized alphabetically. An L-shaped white desk lined the walls beneath the monitors, a stool tucked under the blank side and an office chair on the side that contained a PC and a half finished mug of tea.

Erwin had attempted to warn you about this man’s disposition, but you’d failed to heed that warning. It seemed to finally settle in as he pushed the door closed behind you. It felt like he was sealing a tomb. He opened the file cabinet to your left and produced a small container of sanitizing wipes, giving the surface of his chair a quick swipe before pulling the stray stool from under the desk and doing the same.

“Sit. Please.” he motioned to the open seat and you hesitantly climbed on it, trying your best to calm your nerves as he momentarily turned to hit a button on a small box you hadn’t noticed attached to the wall. You recognized it as an intercom system.

“Someone tell Yeager to scrub that back drain. I know he closed last night.”

As he spoke, you produced your slightly crumpled resume from your bag, clutching it between your fists as if your entire future laid between those pages. You watched as he lifted his head up to the monitors, his eyes carefully scanning the grainy images, presumably to make sure what he had asked was being done. You follow his gaze and see a tall man with a ponytail rounding the corner of the back hallway, locking eyes with the monitor and throwing a not so subtle middle finger as he did so. A small smirk crosses Levi’s face.

Clearing his throat, he finally turned his attention to you, his features resettling into a blank slate. You pass him your resume, awkwardly smiling as you did so. You felt like you were going to throw up. He said nothing, but flipped through the pages with an unamused glare.

“You’re not supposed to lie on a resume, but you know you don’t have to tell the whole truth, right?” he muttered as he scanned the text.

“Look, I know it looks bad-” you began, “-but I can explain!”

“ Bad? Doll, this is worse than bad. I’ve met dogs that could provide me with a better work history.”

You stayed silent, feeling defeated already. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, your eyes making note of the ceiling tile’s patterns as blood rushed to your face. This was stupid. Why would Mr. Smith even recommend you if he knew you were just gonna get roasted by this guy? The shuffling of papers had almost become unbearable, the anxiety mounting in your chest as he scrutinized every letter on the pages.

A much louder flop brought your eyes back down to meet his.

“I’m not in the business of taking charity cases. I know that Erwin gave you a glowing recommendation, but I run a tight ship. This-” He motioned to your resume where he’d tossed it onto the desk “-simply doesn’t meet my standards. I’m sorry.”. He stood up to open the door, presumably to lead you out.

“No, please!” you rose to your feet as well, placing yourself between him and the door. He cocked his head slightly and narrowed his eyes, almost daring you to argue with him. You simultaneously got the feeling that you shouldn’t, but yet you had to.

“I know my work history is bad. But I need this job. I can promise you, swear to you, that I will be here, on time, everyday. I will show up and bust my ass harder than anyone here does. I will work late, pick up shifts, and follow every policy to the T because I have to!”

In your panic, your voice had risen, and when you noticed the slight flash of anger in his eyes, you corrected yourself. In a much softer tone, barely above a whisper, you admitted:

“I don’t have a choice. I have full guardianship of my sister… I’ll loose her if I don’t.”.

For a moment, nothing changes. You both remain rigid and unwavering in wet-concrete thick tension. The air seems tense and stale, the office seeming to close in on the two of you as the suspense builds until finally, finally Levi sighs, briefly gripping the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before turning to grab your resume once again. He flips to the last page and stares at it as if an intense enough gaze could cause it to spontaneously combust. He was as stoic as ever, but you could’ve sworn you saw some intense emotions pooling beneath the surface.

“Fine.” He finally broke, shoving the resume into your chest as if he couldn’t wait to get you out of his office and out of his space. In one swift motion, he had also scooped your bag off the floor tossing it at you as well “You start tomorrow!”.

Shock overtook you for a moment, your eyes widening and an incredulous grin spreading across your face as you exclaimed.

“Really!?”

“Yes. Really. Keep up.”

In your celebration, you hadn’t even noticed he was halfway down the hall, and you had to jog to catch up.

“Thank you sir!! You won’t regret it!” it was all you could do not to literally jump for joy.

“Don’t be so excited.” he stops suddenly by the back door and whipped around quickly, almost causing you to slam into him. He held a finger up, and then two, and brought them up to his face in a ‘look at me’ motion.

“You will arrive on time. Not on time like today, on time like five minutes early-”

You nod to show you’re listening, trying hard to wipe the overjoyed expression off your face and replace it with a more serious one.

“-if you don’t, you’re fired. If you call out, you’re fired. If you don’t preform like I expect you too, you’re fired. You will help keep this place spotless and you will do it without complaining, or I will fire you. Understood?”

You nodded much faster than necessary “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”.

“Good.” He opened the door and ushered you out. You had taken a step out of the door and back into the sunlight when he spoke again, first saying your name, followed by:

“One last thing. I will not tolerate any romantic relationships with your coworkers. You’re here to work, not to find a soul mate. After the last incident, it’s become the golden rule around here. Do not disappoint me.”

Before you could respond, he had slammed the door behind you. The instant you were free from Levi’s stare, your body reacted to the triumph you’d been suppressing. You had done it! Finally, after months of searching you had landed a job! You let out a high-pitched squeal, bouncing up and down on your toes while you hugged your shitty resume like it was an old friend.

A few moments later you settled a bit, finally removing the paper from your chest and glancing over the last page. To your horror, you discovered it had been scribbled on in crayon. A drawing of three gelatinous blobs, with sticks for arms and eldritch horror-esque gaping holes for mouths. Each one was decorated differently. One circle was insultingly large, with hair that looked suspiciously like your own. The second was much more ovular, with blonde sunshine sprigs for hair. The third was small with brown pigtails, holding a lollipop. Was this meant to be you, Erwin, and Ellie? You had half a mind to murder the child-

Your thoughts were interrupted by some movement out of the corner of your vision. Looking up, you saw the man from earlier who had flipped off the camera. Without the graininess of the screen, you could see him much clearer. He had a cigarette pressed between his lips, and a mass of chocolate locks tucked into a bun. He was tall, and lean… and his eyes. Oh fuck , his eyes. They were a sea foam green, a shade of green you didn’t think you’d seen on anyone else before. He didn’t even try to look away from you, but in all fairness you’d been caught staring as well. Butterflies stirred in your gut as he slowly and pointedly scanned you from head to toe and back up again. You sheepishly smiled and waved, prompting him to call out to you:

“Welcome to the team.”

m a s t e r l i s t

[eyeofnewtblog]

Just had a really weird job interview that actually made me think about my childhood…(I said I was independent and resourceful and was asked to provide examples)

My dad bought me my first car, but as soon as I had my drivers license, he told me I was grounded until I knew how to change a tire and change my own oil. I was grounded for about a week. The only help he gave me was showing me where the owners manual was and a few forums about my specific model of car.

My dad, while I was getting my permit to drive, required that I drive him up to the local Indian reservation for casino night (he would keep $150 in his right pocket and as soon he was out he would leave, he kept the winnings in his left pocket and as soon as he was $300 up we would leave) also he tried to teach his most mathematicalally challenged child how to count cards at black jack? Not a successful enterprise. I barely passed high school chemistry.

When I was twelve there was a cross continent moving situation that required my dad and I to move ahead of my mom and middle sister (this is the time he lit the stove on fire from trying to fry bacon…) after the stove incident, he dug out the recipe cards his mother had made for my mom when they got married, shoved them at me, along with the cordless 1990’s phone and said “I’ve dialed your Aunt Rock, (his older sister) Daddy wants biscuits and gravy, make her walk you through it.”

That’s how I learned to cook; having my aunt on speed dial and I would tell her what was in the cabinets, she would make a list for me to give to dad, and then she would walk me through the recipe. As I cooked it.

As a teenager, my dad knew that I was capable of cooking exactly what he wanted (IE exactly what his mom and big sis cooked while he was growing up) and as an adult I’ve had to actually learn to enjoy cooking as an actual experience and process and not just “what I was told”

When I was 21 my dad spent about $700 on brand new parts for a car I owned that was falling apart…I spent my 21st birthday drinking beer on my dad’s driveway tearing apart my van to replace rotors and brakes, while my boyfriend at the time and dad sat back and did nothing while calling me a great little grease monkey.

Honestly, I’m still not sure if I’m proud or humiliated by that, but the grease monkey comment came from the bf and he didn’t last much longer…

I don’t know. Obviously I didn’t make myself quite this vulnerable when I was in the actual interview, but it feels good to be vulnerable after the fact?

I just feel like my dad gave me a lot of tools to figure shit out for myself, and being resourceful is actually a really great quality. Feeling? Idk.

Being resourceful gives you independence.

Because any problems that come up? There’s either a YouTube tutorial, a blog, or SOMETHING available as a resource. And if you’re out of internet service???? There’s literally a book in your glove compartment somewhere telling you what to do.

[lostlegendaerie]

Fuck it! US Private Student Loans Guide!

DISCLAIMER: while I have worked in private loans specifically for five+ years, this isn't ‘financial’ advice and is just a heavily summarized guide on how to navigate them. Yes, these loans suck, but complain to your legislators not me. I’m just trying to help you know what you’re doing. Additional info for each section is under the cut!

1) Who are you and who are all the companies constantly running around with my money?

I work in loan SERVICING, which is basically the billing department. If you’ve got a new company asking you for money, it's probably a new servicer and your debt is still owned by the bank. We enforce the terms in the promissory note, the document you sign telling the bank “yeah I'll play by your rules if you give me the money.” If your loan defaults, you’ll get contacted by a third (fourth?) party, but how that works is beyond my wheelhouse. The bank or your servicer should be able to confirm what happens in case of default.

2) What am I looking for in a ‘good’ loan?

Generally, you’re going to want SIMPLE instead of compound interest, a FIXED RATE opposed to a variable one, and you’ll want to go for FULL DEFERMENT while in school and make manual payments when you can. Also ask up front about stuff like if disability forgiveness or co-signer release (getting your parents off it) is offered.

3) This loan sucks! How do I make it better?

Student loans are NOTORIOUSLY hard to get out of, unfortunately. If the interest rate/payment relief options suck, you can try to REFINANCE where you take out a new loan to pay off the old one. This gives you a new promissory note, interest rate, and terms/conditions. If you’re trying to erase the debt entirely, ask for the promissory note (if they can't provide a copy, we have to forgive the debt. I've only seen this happen ONCE.) or try to go through social security disability.

DO NOT USE FREEDOM DEBT RELIEF OR OTHER SERVICES. DO NOT. THEY ARE SCAMS.

More in depth information for each point!

1) Lenders and Servicers

The lender is the person who provides the funds in the debt - the bank who pays the school or the hospital or the home contractor fixing your sink. The servicer is the company that is your point of contact when you need to make payments, ask for payment relief, or otherwise manage the loan that exists. Think of us as the mechanic (we keep the car running) where the bank is the manufacturer (they make the car). Some different servicers are SoFi, Zuntafi, Great Lakes, Nelnet and Firstmark Services; their names will be on the billing statements. Some different banks are Citizens, US Bank, NorthStar; their names will be on the promissory note and the disclosures.

Sometimes banks do sell the debt, however! A couple years ago Wells Fargo sold an enormous chunk of their loans off somewhere (an investment group, maybe?) but! The promissory note will still be the EXACT same if your debt gets sold. You’ll only get a new promissory note if you refinance the loan yourself.

2a) Interest Accrual and Rates

Interest is how banks profit off the loans they give out and/or ‘ensure they don't end up with a loss if the loan defaults’. (It's profit.) Most, but not all, loans calculate interest with the simple daily interest formula, shown below:

[(Current loan balance) x (interest rate)] divided by 365

If your loan’s balance is $10,000 and your interest rate is 6% you’ll be charged $1.64 each day. SIMPLE INTEREST means that this interest just kind of floats around on the account until a payment comes in and pays it off, where COMPOUND adds that interest to the balance at the end of the month/day/whatever. Compound charges you more over the life of the loan.

FIXED INTEREST is a set percent that doesn't change, where VARIABLE will change usually based on whatever the economy is doing. There’s a minimum and maximum value to the variable interest rates, so if you’re doing a variable ASK WHAT THE MINS AND MAXES ARE. A fixed rate might be 8% and a variable might be 3.25% the day you take it out, but that variable could have a maximum interest rate of 25% so be VERY, VERY CAREFUL. If you get stuck in a real bad variable interest rate, your best solution is probably a refinance.

2b) Deferment and Payment Allocation

So interest is gonna be accruing on your loan from the day the money leaves the bank. Sucks. And you may not be able to make payments while you're in school, so opting to DEFER your payments will stop them from billing you so you can skip a month or whatever without penalty. At the END of that deferment, though, whatever interest that accrued will be added to your current balance. If we use the example from above (10k loan with 1.64 daily interest) four years of school will add $2,400 to your balance and then your daily interest will jump up to $2.03 a day.

Solution? Make payments of what you can while you’re in school to chip away at that floating interest. Usually when you make a payment, it’s gonna go towards the interest first and then the rest drops the balance. (E.g. if you make a $20.00 payment ten days after your loan is disbursed, $16.40 will go towards interest and $3.60 towards your 10k balance). There is NO PENALTY for making extra payments or making early payments, but it might make your bills look a little weird if you’re being billed each month for just the interest.

3) Why are these loans so horrible? Can’t I find anything to help me?

Blame Reagan and the republicans who enabled him.

No, but really. The problem with these loans is that those promissory notes are VERY legally binding and have lots of fine print in there designed to make it as hard as possible for someone to skimp out on their debt without having their credit score decimated. Some lenders might even dip into your paychecks if you're crazy behind or default; again, that's not my wheelhouse and I've only maybe seen that once. Your best bet is just to pay it off as fast as possible (again, no penalty for paying the loan off early) or refinance into better terms.

And I get it. I really do. I hate how we’ve made so many incredibly important things in our society locked behind a paywall that charges poor people more to climb than the rich. But if you’ve made it this far, please don't turn your anger at me for not giving you the answers you want. The best I can do is vote for people who are willing to crack down on predatory lending, keep fighting for student loan forgiveness… and at my own job, make sure that my coworkers aren't making mistakes.

If you have a more specific question, I can try to answer as best I can without breaking any information privacy laws. And take care, okay? You are never fighting alone.

[forgeline]

No compromises. Rodd’s incredible 1969 Chevrolet Camaro convertible was built by Ambition Road Hot Rods and Muscle Cars, who fabricated this trick removable steel hardtop to provide all-season performance. It’s powered by a Holley fuel-injected Chevrolet Performance LS2 mated to a Tremec TKO-600 5-speed manual transmission and rides on Detroit Speed suspension, Wilwood disc brakes, 285/35ZR18 & 345/30ZR19 Michelin Pilot Super Sport tires, the Forgeline Flush Loc centerlock conversion (with the Hex nut), and 18x10/19x12 Forgeline forged three piece CF3C Concave wheels finished with Transparent Smoke centers & Brushed/Transparent Smoke outers! See more at: https://www.forgeline.com/customer-gallery-rodd-kneeland/cgk2786

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge: Unleashing the Power of Muscle

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

In 1962, a new era of muscle cars emerged, radiating brilliance and power. Chrysler led the way with their groundbreaking Max Wedge lineup, introducing the world to the fusion of unitized-body construction and the high-performance ram-tuned dual-carbureted 413 CI engine. Among these legends was the Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge, a remarkable vehicle that holds a significant place in automotive history.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

The First Super Stock Max Wedge with Manual Transmission According to the esteemed Chrysler Registry and the meticulous documentation by Darrell Davis, this specific Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge holds a groundbreaking distinction—it was the first Super Stock model equipped with a manual transmission. The car’s odometer displays a mere 6,593 miles and has undergone a meticulous restoration process to return it to its original specifications. Notably, the engine has been upgraded, boasting a dyno-proven power output exceeding 500 HP.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Unleashing the Power of the 413 CI V-8 Engine The 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge was powered by the formidable 413 CI V-8 engine. This was the first iteration of Chrysler’s renowned ram induction system, featuring a cross-ram intake manifold meticulously designed to optimize engine efficiency. The engine’s performance was further enhanced by the utilization of cast-iron header-style manifolds, which were rarely preserved but featured in this exceptional vehicle. Dale Reed of California refreshed the engine around 300 miles ago, ensuring its optimal performance. The correct Carter AFB carburetors reside beneath dual black air cleaners, accentuated by carefully placed decals.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

A Unique Manual Transmission Experience One of the distinctive aspects of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge is its manual transmission. Unlike its automatic counterparts, this car delivers a unique driving experience through its floor-mounted shifter, allowing the driver to truly feel the power at their fingertips. Paired with a full aftermarket exhaust equipped with cutouts and the robust 8 ¾ Chrysler differential, this Max Wedge offers an exhilarating ride for those who crave the thrill of the open road.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Captivating Style and Authenticity The exterior of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge embodies the spirit of the era. Finished in captivating light blue paint, it exudes a timeless charm. The interior features a complementary blue cloth-and-vinyl combination, while the white-and-blue two-tone trim adds an elegant touch. The front and rear bench seats provide comfort, and the radio delete plate pays homage to the car’s performance-focused nature. Notably, it features a knee-knocker S-W column-mounted tachometer and a beautifully presented trio of rubber pedals. The car’s attention to detail is evident throughout, with the inclusion of circa-1962 chrome fonts, single-lens tail lamps, and OEM steel wheels adorned with poverty-type hubcaps.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Provenance and Documentation Accompanying this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge is a wealth of provenance and documentation that adds to its allure. It includes the original OEM IBM punch card and build sheet, which serve as a testament to its authenticity. Additionally, the window sticker provides insight into its original specifications, while the dyno sheet confirms its impressive horsepower rating. Vintage photos capture the car’s early years when it was part of a famous drag car collection, showcasing its illustrious past.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Conclusion The 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge stands as a testament to the golden age of muscle cars. With its groundbreaking manual transmission configuration, powerful 413 CI V-8 engine, and captivating style, it represents the pinnacle of Mopar’s storied performance heritage. Meticulously restored to its original glory, this Max Wedge allows enthusiasts to experience a bygone era’s raw power and timeless charm.

FAQs: How many miles does the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge have? The odometer of the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge reads 6,593 miles. Who documented the Chrysler Registry for this particular car? The meticulous documentation of the Chrysler Registry for this car was done by Darrell Davis. Has the engine of the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge been upgraded? Yes, the engine of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge has been upgraded to a dyno-proven 500-plus HP. What is the significance of the 413 CI V-8 engine in this car? The 413 CI V-8 engine in this car was the first to receive Chrysler’s shortened version of ram induction, known as the cross-ram intake. It maximizes engine efficiency and pairs it with rarely preserved cast-iron header-style manifolds. What documentation and provenance come with this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge? This Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge comes with various documentation, including the OEM IBM punch card, build sheet, window sticker, dyno sheet confirming horsepower rating, and vintage photos of its early years as part of a famous drag car collection.

[scarlettaagni]

(Redesign) Atomix

Species: Mendol (pl. Mendolee)

One of the most powerful aliens in Ben's arsenal, Atomix is an alien with the ability to see, hear, and manipulate the shape, location, and elements of all atomic structures around him. Even living material and the air around him is not exempt.

Because he only perceives things made of atoms, Atomix cannot be fooled by energy optical illusions such as light-refracting cloaks and ID mask disguises. However, this puts him at risk from energy weapons and projectiles, which he can't see or hear (but very much feel when they hit).

Atomix's body is sturdy, and can withstand the vacuum of space. His skin is tough but with some bounceback to it. Though a Mendol's body is entirely organic, with the more obviously fleshy bits and ichor being internal, exposed only by clear membranes like his eye, arm nodes, and torso, many species have mistaken them for an automatonous species, such as Synthroids or Sylonnoids.

His eye is lidded, and the slits on the sides of his head are gills through which he breathes.

Atomix can hold his breath for lengthy stretches of time, by choice or by retracting his head into his collar. He can also do this to protect his head, eye, or the Omnitrix badge on the back of it.

His base strength is great, capable of picking up cars, busting through solid brick and concrete, and tearing up stop signs and lampposts from blacktop. Being crushed under rubble, buildings, boulders or vehicles is easy to shake off and escape from. His weight and density also make it hard to knock him around, as easy as tripping him would be.

Atomix is capable of running with great force and endurance, though with a slow start. Though his thick fingers lack manual dexterity, his eye for detail and pinpoint accuracy make up for it, if not negating it entirely.

Ben could use Atomix to hold his own in a fight, completely without his unique abilities, just due to Mendol durability and strength.

Moving the general atom positioning of matter allows Atomix to bend it into useful shapes.

By changing atomic densities, Atomix can shift the phases of matter around him, in any direction, even rarer occurrences like sublimation.

Atomix can even cause matter to change elements. By adding and subtracting particles, he also alters their weight and mass.

Atomix is capable of replicating more complex weapons, such as grenades or guns, but only with a provided example for visual reference. His atomic sight means he has 24/7 X-ray vision in a sense, so he can replicate the smallest internal seams, bolts, and wires. However, while he can create the base of a tech-heavy weapon, if it requires an energy source, Atomix cannot provide it (exception being if it's powered by radioactive material).

With such great power is an intense drawback: the sensory overload that comes from being able to see and hear even the smallest electron in every single atom, including the air. The background noise of every piece of matter in the immediate vicinity drowns out most other noises, including the voices of friends and enemies alike. The visual static of seeing every moving part of every atom also drowns out his ability to distinguish friend and foe, much less people from the environment.

Transforming into a Mendol overwhelms Ben and puts him in a spacey mindset, where he might become more occupied with examining walls or an object on the floor than the fight he was transforming for.

With concentration and practice, Ben can strain his hearing to pay attention to others, and with the human part of him to ground Atomix (by referring to others by titles to remind him that a particular pile of atoms is Friend, and the other is Cousin, one is a Foe, etc.), he can become more and more like Ben and use his powers responsibly and effectively. Study of chemistry in and out of Mendol form assists his alchemizing ability (and bump up his grade in high school chem).

Even organic material is manipulatable, so Atomix is technically capable of healing powers, but it is infinitely easier to break and morph something than it is to restore its original form or make fine-tuned details.

So, to not the cross the line of accidentally mangling civilians or using this to melt or kneecap his villains, all organic matter-shifting is off-limits by Ben's choice. He's willing to use his powers on himself like morph a hand into a blade, because he understands the risks, it won't hurt anyone but himself if it goes awry, and it will be fixed by the Omnitrix via detransformation.

If he wants to bend the universe, he must first bend himself.

Mendolee are most comfortable in space or in environments with a minimal atmosphere, where there is the least atomic sound, only the faint roar of distant planets and stars, or the rock beneath their feet. They are extremely asocial, because they see every single atom and its particles, as well as hear every sound every atom makes. So, Mendolee don't really hear much over the collective atomic sound of the universe. They do not prioritize one kinda noisy, extra-moving pile of atoms over the other inanimate, slightly-more-still equally noisy piles of atoms. So they generally don't respond to anyone trying to talk to them. They are significantly better at recognizing other Mendolee, but only through pattern recognition of their own atomic structures. Idling through space, they often crash onto planets by drifting into its gravitational pull, where they wander aimlessly only to examine their surroundings' make-up. Then, they terraform a little corner to live in. Millennia ago, Mendolee fell to the original Galvan Prime, and terraformed the landscape, to the aid and awe of the residing Galvans. The Omnitrix icon, a Galvan symbol and universal peace sign, was based off the natural membrane on a Mendol's torso. Different Mendolee have different preferences. Some insist on flattening everything so all is perfectly level. Others like making tall towers like anthills, others make these as a consequence of making valleys to wedge themselves into for rest.

—

I'm not the first person to, though I want to say I independently came to this conclusion without seeing the other people who had done it first, think that Atomix should've been based on or be the species of beings Azmuth's biosuit was based on, the "ancient machine gods primitive Galvans used to worship"

Because radiation is N.R.G.'s thing, I changed his powers to alchemy/matter manipulation.

I wasn't sure what colors to make Atomix, because I knew he shouldn't be the same colors as Azmuth's suit, so I went with his concept art by Tom Perkins. It was meant to be temporary but I really liked and ended up keeping it.

This is more of an afterthought but looking at canon Atomix's page pissed me off cause he's got the big Omni shape (with kirby dots) on him which is a Galvan symbol with the explicit note in the trivia "yeah it is a Galvan symbol but just cause it's Galvan doesn't mean Atomix has anything to do with them"

Like shut up. What if, in an opposite but also reverse way, it's a Galvan symbol BECAUSE it is a naturally occurring shape on Mendolee. Same way we see doves and make them a symbol of peace. We see a heart and make it a symbol of love. Do you see my vision.

Mendol/Mendolee is a reference to Dmitri Mendeleev, the Father of the Periodic Table of Elements. The "dol" part is a play on doll because of their artificial and articulated appearance.

[thelvrsera]

Snowed In

Request : (yes)

Warnings : none

Paring : Jimmy Keene (black bird) x fem! Reader

Words : 1,622

a/n : its been snowing a lot recently where I am at, a whole whopping 9 Inches of white powdered rain lies outside my home as we speak. So why not incorporate it into this little fic.

Using female/female identifying terms! I can always edit it in post <3

The fall of the snow came heavy as the hours ticked by making the day feel a lot longer than it should have been . The expensive car that sat outside the front of house, was now covered by a thick coat of cold powder, the branches on the trees swayed as it carried the weight of the snow on its limbs. It never seemed to bother Jimmy a bit , but it did bother y/n to an extent. She hated the way it clung to her clothes , making everything slightly damp , or the way it would make getting to and from work the biggest fight of your life.

Nonetheless, it never seemed to suppress her mood as she was stuck behind the four walls of her boyfriend’s home , where it was warm and a random episode of Dawsons Creek played that they’ve both seen countless times. A book that once rested between nimble fingers laid face down on the dining room table , that was only picked up and read by Jimmy throughout the day. It was always rare to see him pick up any kind of book. A novel, an instruction manual, if it had words and a cover? He’d rather be dead than be caught reading any thing of the sort. y/n was the only one who knew about his secret love for reading , how he found it easier to pick up a book rather than leaving his house for a night on the town.

The book had remained untouched for about an hour , until Jimmy came waltzing into the living area with two wine glasses and a bottle of Chardonnay , humming a tune from a Frank Sinatra song as he sat both glasses on the coffee table and filled them a little under half way as he tossed the cork behind him somewhere amongst the room , possibly hidden behind the suitcases left behind the sofa from a vacation over the holidays. As Jimmy was satisfied with the contents in the glass, he lifted the woman’s legs up from their stretched state and had a seat , allowing her to stretch them back out across his lap. All she could do was close her laptop halfway and look at him as she sat up and grabbed one of the glasses holding the contents of the white wine. Y/n swirled the beverage around a little before sipping at it , a small hum of acknowledgement coming from her lips as she sat in thought for a moment.

“When did we buy a bottle of Chardonnay?” she spoke , curiosity striking her as she remembered skimming the cabinet for some type of wine , but there was none in sight .

All James could do was chuckle at her , remembering the hotel they stayed at that provided the bottle in a small bucket full of ice to keep it cool . “I swiped it from that hotel . No one else was going to drink it , and it was free . Win – win situation if you ask me” he had replied , his pearly white smile showing through plump pink lips as he gave a small smile before raising the glass to his lips and sipping at the alcoholic beverage.

Y/n’s eyes just followed his movements , the laptop now laid on the coffee table as admired the man on the sofa with her. The way the one vein in his bicep always protruded out of his arm as if he wasn’t wearing his own skin , like it was a hemmed seam of some sort. The way he delicately held the expensive wine glass between his fingers. It was unusual to see a man who possibly had the strength to tear apart a man from limb to limb , be so gentle with an object that could break so easily . It almost brought tears to her eyes at how delicate he could be with inanimate objects , how delicate he could be with her . She wondered how she got so lucky to be sitting here , to be loved by a man like him , it was a strange feeling to say the least , but her thoughts were disrupted as she heard him speak.

“y/n ? hello ? you alright there , honey ?” Jimmy asked , a wave of relief washing over him as she finally blinked . It was almost as if she was frozen , completely in a whole other world as she sat there , but he didn’t mind it at all . If it were up to him , he would sit there and stare at her all day.

Y/n let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding in as she nodded softly , a smile painting her features as she sat up a little , trying to get comfortable in the spot she was in . “yeah ! yeah , I’m alright . just… lost in thought I suppose “ she replied , playing with the cuffed end of the sweatshirt she was wearing that a size too big for her , signaling it belonged to the man on the other end of the sofa . It kept her warm to say the least , besides the pair of sleep shorts she was wearing which exposed the skin on her legs a little more than she was used too , but nonetheless , she was thankful it was warmer inside than it was outside.

Jimmy shuffled around on the sofa so he could face her , sitting with one foot tucked under him and the other planted on the floor as he leaned over to place his glass on the table . No one felt like cooking , and there was one takeout place that was still open , it had quickly became both of their favorite spot when they had started dating.

"Y'know we could order takeout , and watch one of those shitty comedies" Jimmy spoke , and quickly added "We don't have too , but if you're up for it , I can go and make the call real fast." He knew doing takeout every once in a while was thing they both liked , and y/n never turned it down for anything.

All she gave in return was a small nod in agreement , and she watched as he hopped off the couch and made his way into the kitchen to retrieve the number that was tucked away into a random drawer .

...

After take out was ordered and eventually ate , and the classic comedy Billy Madison was watched , both parties resigned on the couch for the rest of the night , too full to move and too tired to stay awake.

Jimmy was now rested on the couch as he used the arm rest as a place to rest his head as y/n used the man beneath her as a pillow of some sort , with a random throw blanket from the storage closet wrapped around them both to keep them warm . It was strange falling asleep at such an early time as 6:30 in the evening , the time change that occurred months ago made days short and nights longer , but y/n couldn't complain , she enjoyed days like this.

As the credits of the movie played , all y/n could do was drag her body up a little further so she could rest her head a little higher on Jimmy's chest , being able to hear his heartbeat against her ear , trying to memorize the pattern of the rhythm it gave , it was her favorite song , a song she never wanted to stop hearing whether it was now or forever. It was a song so soothing it was engraved into her brain.

Jimmy was half asleep as he played with the loose strands of the womans hair , letting every fiber tell him a different story , the whole "hair holds memories" theory playing a key factor in his mind. He kept fading in and out , between sleeping in short intervals and waking up for split second to keep twirling a section of y/n's hair between his middle and index finger. This was peace on Earth to him. No fighting , no arguing , and no distractions in between . It was just him , his lover , and the song playing from the ending credits of the comedy film displayed on the television.

Y/n looked up at the man for a moment before giving a small smile , admiring the sleepy state he was in , she knew there was no way in hell they'd move from this sofa until tomorrow . She leaned up and pressed a small kiss to his jaw , the only place she could reach him without moving too far and making him stir . Y/n whispered a small "i love you " to him before resting her head back upon his chest and falling into a deep slumber as more snow continued to fall right outside the window . There was no one else she'd rather be snowed in with than Jimmy.

___________________

a/n : WOO WOO FIRST FIC IN THE BAG! i actually feel really confident about this one , its by far my favorite thing i have written in my years of writing , it almost made me tear up a little writing it. It is just a little rushed as i had started writing it a couple days ago and lost my train of thought, but it all gets better from here!!

Thank you , anon , for such a beautiful request <3

[siryouarebeingmocked]

Carter and Lovecraft, by Jonathan L. Howard (2015)

I really wanted to like this book.

I've read a few Lovecraft novels and stories, and I liked them. So when I saw this on my friend's bookshelf, I borrowed it, and read it.

Tried to.

The first real fly in the ointment? NYPD protag sees his partner take a 9mm retirement in front of him on a creepy case, and becomes a private detective. Mysterious lawyer shows up at his office one day and says there was a bookstore owner in Providence, Rhode Island, who has been missing and just declared dead.

The protag gets the bookshop. He's not sure why.

Protag goes to the bookshop. Owner's niece, Emily, is there. She's been running the shop alone since the owner vanished, and she co-ran it when he was alive. Also, she's biracial. Would be played by Zoe Kravitz in the movie, he thinks.

Her name is Lovecraft.

As in, she's a descendant of ol' Howard Philips.

She notes the irony; a black-ish "mulatto" descendant of an anti-black racist.

"Okay," I think, as I checked the publication date. "You've gotten that token bit out of the way. Now, can we move on?"

Apparently not.

As protag starts looking into the disappearance and other weird stuff, he decides he needs to get his eye in. So he goes to a gun range, where he needs to sign up for the NRA first

and ends the session by "re-engaging the safety" on his Glock.

Fun fact: stock Glocks don't have manual safeties, AFAIK.

In the next chapter, protag thinks about how he used the gun. He hates the NRA and the whole "gun fetish" thing, but he needs the iron, just in case.

Two strikes. Three if you count the safety thing.

Yes, I know an NYPD cop might be a bit bigoted about the issue, especially considering how his partner died. But it really feels like the writer's opinion.

In fact, let me just-

Yep. The writer is British. This sounds awfully familiar.

It was about this time that I realized something. The protagonist has no traits that aren't directly related to being a cop or detective. Absolutely none.

I don't think we know what he does in his off hours. No friends. Nothing but the job.

Heck, Miss Lovecraft has more personality than him, and she takes up a lot less screen time.

Protag decides to give Lovecraft half the business, so he can become a silent partner. People start dying in physically impossible ways - like the dude who drowned in his dry car in a parking lot - our hero looks into it.

He also ends up learning about a local family, the Waites. Rich, keep to themselves on their own land, been around since before the area was officially settled, apparently.

The local who tells him about all this says the younger ones are oddly attractive. The family has distinctive big eyes.

Anyone remotely familiar with HP Lovecraft just went "Oh, right, they're fishmen. Got it." I've seen this trope done better before, like in the comic Shadowgirls.

Hero looks into the archives, finds records of a racist Town Council rant by an early Waite, back when they were still into trading. Including slaves. Specifically, patriarch Newton Waite went to a council meeting and said black people should serve others, and shouldn't have self-determination.

The archivist intern says it's was "a different time", and that's just how people were back then.

Of course, he adds "People who talk like that now - no pass for them."

End scene.

Like this extremely mainstream, boring opinion is some kind of

In the next scene, protag chats about the fit he had near the Waite place. Learns about another mysterious death. When he chats about it with Emily, he suddenly realizes she's hot.

Then the narration tells us that he was a racist bigot in his teens, though he thought he was being sensible at the time. He now knows he was wrong, but he still feels sparks of it when he reads about some black kid doing some stereotypically black thing, which gives certain white people "a hard-on of righteousness".

And, of course, his time spent walking away from "instinctive racism" means his dating pool opened up. Like Emily Lovecraft, for example.

The most stereotypically black thing would probably be crime. Or being a single mom or deadbeat dad.

 Sadly, I know of plenty of black people - from my black majority home country - who fall into one of those categories. Or two. Three if you include "poverty", but we're Developing, so that barely even counts.

Also, this basically came out of nowhere. Not Emily being hot - I mean, look at Zoe Kravitz - but his unsolicited thoughts on racism.

All of these issues have also been issues for many concerned black people. For decades. The 'stereotypically black things' might be bad themselves, not because they make racist white people feel smug.

This is precisely where I closed the book for good. I would've put away the bookmarks, but I needed the page so I could write this rant.

Honestly, writing all this made me realize that I should've given up long before I made it halfway through the book. But I just kept hoping it would get better.

Doing the same well-worn cliches in a modern setting doesn't really make them interesting. Neither do the little 'racism is bad, mmmkay?' bits.

[blurscolours]

The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea | Part Thirteen

Masterlist

Summary: An attack on Arthur’s imprisoned brother Orm leaves him with no choice but to rely upon you, a friend made due to unfortunate circumstances nearly a decade ago, to provide safe haven while he restores peace to Atlantis. Suddenly tasked with sheltering a sullen former king results in a very different summer vacation than you had originally envisioned, but changes both of your lives forever.

Warnings: Discussion of Reader's Injuries and Recovery, Near Miss Fall From A Ladder, Orm Is Still A Man of Few Words, Mature/Explicit Themes [nipple play - f receiving, manual stimulation - f receiving, oral - m/f receiving, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration] - 18+ only.

Word Count: 3218

Amnesty Bay, Maine – Fall/Winter 2019

You were beginning to wonder if time passed differently beneath the waves of the ocean. The first time Arthur had left you, back in August, he had said it would not take long. It had been nearly a month before he had reappeared. And again, when he had left with Orm in September, he had said it would not take long.

Watching the snowflakes meander their way to the rapidly whitening ground outside your office window, you sighed softly. It was now early December and there had been no word from them.

Tom had been so very kind, taking excellent care of you as you used up every last hour of sick leave from your job to convalesce at his lighthouse. Wayne Enterprises had delivered your car and belongings to the lighthouse in Maine, and you found yourself frequently glancing at the neatly packed duffle bag holding Orm’s scant surface possessions as your thoughts drifted to his whereabouts and welfare.

There was no human on the face of the earth who understood you better than Tom. He recognized the way you watched the ocean out the window. The way you walked to the end of the dock with him as Atlanna had also been called upon to assist Arthur with quelling the rebellion. He knew what it meant to be left behind. To be rooted to the spot where your Atlantean had parted from you, loathe to leave it on the chance of their return.

And so, when you had run out of sick time, and then the very last of your vacation days, it had been Tom’s suggestion that you request a remote working arrangement. After the tsunami incident last year, he had purchased some property up the road and was gradually fixing it up with the intention of renting it out for some additional income. He insisted you move in there, given that the lighthouse did not have space for a home office, and flatly refused to accept any form of payment.

Much to your surprise, your company had agreed and sent your computer and some other equipment via courier. Your best friend had also been kind enough to collect and send some more seasonally appropriate clothing as the weather grew cold.

Using the subterfuge of companionship, you had in fact found a way to repay Tom by eating several meals with him each week – and celebrating any thin excuse for a holiday together. You always made the shopping run and cooked the food; refused repayment, just as he did for the cottage’s rent. It seemed to infuriate him to no end, which was only fair considering the stubborn old goat refused your rent money.

Your email chimed with the notification of a new message, and you opened it up, accepting the meeting for Monday before glancing at the clock, letting out a pleased sigh that the workday, and work week, had come to an end. You logged off and shut the door to the office behind you, turning your attention to the box of holiday lights you had purchased on your last trip to the larger neighbouring town where the best shopping was.

After a quick snack, you slid on a few more layers before taking the box outside into the gathering dark of early evening, stopping by the shed to grab a ladder. Tom had already come by to help you secure the clips onto the gutters, all you had to do was snap the lights into place now that you had bought them, and you were eager any additional source of light to fight off the gloom of early winter. Planting your ladder firmly into the skiff of snow on the frozen ground, you manipulated it slightly to be sure it was stable before carefully climbing up.

You began by plugging the string into the outlet flush against the soffit, immediately smiling at the warm glow of the soft white lights, before unravelling the length and clipping into along the front of the house. Once the next clip was beyond your reach, you climbed down and moved the ladder before resuming the task of stringing the lights. You continued at a steady pace, making your way around the perimeter of the cottage as the darkness of the evening set in.

Nearly finished, you climbed the ladder for what you hoped was the last time when you heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow. You turned your head towards the sound, fully expecting to see Tom making his way over from the lighthouse, but when your eyes fell upon a blonde figure in black armor you did not fully trust your vision in the low-light. Something you had wished to see so fervently, he could easily be a figment of your imagination.

You turned your body fully, leaning forward into the dark to try and get a better look. The ladder groaned in protest before lurching to the side, wrenching a shriek from your throat as you felt yourself falling. While your landing was not as forceful as you expected, the surface which you landed on was as hard as steel. Opening your eyes, which had reflexively clenched shut, you saw that Orm had somehow closed the distance between you, catching you in his armor-clad arms.

“I see you are just as reckless as when I left you.” His voice rumbled through you, making your heart skitter against your ribs as it lost its natural rhythm.

You looked to his face quickly, swallowing tightly to see his cerulean eyes glowing in the low light. He was so close that you could see the still-falling snow flakes collecting in his eyelashes. Yet for his physical closeness, he may as well have been an ocean away. He felt like a stranger to you, after the way you had parted, after three months absence with no word. With how he held you away from his body, setting you down and taking a step back.

“Thank you.” You straightened your coat self-consciously, picking up the ladder before it became a tripping hazard. “You seem alright…I’m glad.” You glanced back at the house before looking at him. “Would you like to come inside?”

He nodded silently and you led him into the cottage, kicking off your snowy shoes. Once he stepped inside, you closed the door behind him, turning to ask if you could get him anything. He had just set something down onto the entry table, though you did not have time to process what the object was as he was suddenly pulling you close, burying his face in your hair.

“I’ve missed you more than words can express. More than I could bear.” He inhaled your scent deeply, his words bringing a blur of tears to your vision as your heart throbbed.

It had been real.

“Orm…” You whispered tremulously, helpless to form words more coherent than that, trying to wrap your arms around him in return but the bulk of his armor made it nearly impossible.

He pulled back, cupping your face gently, looking you over intensely, inquisitively.

“You are well?” He rasped and you nodded quickly, tears briefly clinging to your lower lashes before trailing down your cheeks as you gave him a watery smile.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you leaned in to kiss him, gasping in delight as he closed the distance quickly, pressing his warm lips to yours. You slid your arms around his neck, lest your legs give out as they were threatening to do, holding tightly as the heat of him seemed to liquefy your bones. Feeling you waiver in his arms, he slid his hands down to grip the backs of your thighs, lifting you up against him as he walked further into the house.

You grunted a little, shifting as you tried to find a comfortable position against the steel plate he wore, wanting to be closer but it honestly hurt. He turned and gently set you down on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Apologies…” He murmured, stepping back to begin stripping the interfering articles, laying them carefully onto the nearby rug, not wanting to dent your floor.

Gnawing on your lip, you sat on your perch watching him with wide eyes as the hard shell was removed to reveal the sort of advanced wet suit he had been wearing when you had first met. You were pleased to note that this one was fully in tact, giving you hope that he had not arrived with injuries this time. As he began to peel that last layer away to reveal his flawless skin, pulled taut over well-defined muscles, you squirmed against the stone of the countertop, pulse quickening.

He glanced at you knowingly before shedding the last of his clothing, hanging the suit up by the door, walking around your home in his naked glory without a second thought. You licked your lips, rooted to the spot by the sight, until he returned at last, pulling you flush against him as his mouth sealed against yours hungrily.

You sighed deeply, wrapping your arms around his bare shoulders, clinging to him. On each inhale you could smell the sea water that still dampened his hair, begging your fingers to run through it. Stretching a hand up, you carded your fingers through his golden locks, earning a throaty moan as his tongue licked into your mouth, commanding entrance to taste you.

You whimpered in return as his slick, wet muscle stroked yours, lifting your legs to wrap around his hips and pull him tighter to you. He growled a little and pulled back to nibble at your lower lip.

“You are entirely overdressed for the occasion.” He complained before his fingers slid up under your clothing to trace along the skin of your back.

You jumped at the searing heat of his touch, obediently lifting your hands over your head as he pushed the layers up and off your body, huffing as he was then confronted with your bra. His mouth scorched a wet trail down your neck that had you greedily lolling your head to the side, offering your skin in sacrifice, as he worked the offending garment off before he was at last able to cup the bare flesh of your breasts in his expansive hands.

You groaned needily, fingers tugging at his hair as your hips rutted against his unconsciously. You could feel his rapidly hardening cock growing against the fabric of your pants and your cunt began to weep at the memory of what it felt like to have him inside you. As his fingers gently rolled and tugged at your nipples, your back arched, pressing your breasts into his hands and he chuckled smugly before lapping and sucking at each of the hardened peaks in turn.

“Please, Orm…” You whimpered needily, hips pressing your core against him, huffing in frustration at the barrier of your remaining clothing.

He hummed in agreement, lips crashing into yours heatedly as his fingers made quick work of your pants and underwear, stripping your lower half. His long fingers massaged into your thighs teasingly, drawing ever closer to your dripping folds until at last he cupped your core with his fiery palm. You whimpered into his mouth, hips bucking to his touch as he collected your arousal with his fingertips to circle and stroke your clit. Your lips fell back from his as you gasped for breath, chest heaving as you gulped for air, each exhale a whimper or exclamation of pleasure.

He pressed his forehead against yours, your fluttering eyelashes allowing you only snippets of the hungry look in his near-black eyes, his glowing blue irises pushed to the very edge by his blown pupils. The way he watched you had you clenching around nothing, swallowing audibly, nails ghosting along his scalp. It was overwhelming and yet it was not nearly enough. As his forefinger sank into your desperate cunt, your head fell back with a ragged moan, hips wantonly pushing closer to his hand, drawing his finger inside you as far as he could reach.

His harsh breaths echoed yours, resounding in tandem in the dark of the cottage as his finger thrust into your body, making you tremble unsteadily on the cool stone of the countertop. His free hand slid to press against your spine, fingers splayed to cover as much skin of your back as he could reach, holding you upright as he added as second finger. All the while, his eyes never left your face, hungrily watching your reactions, listening to your whimpers and cries. He curled his fingers forward, toward the front of your body, stroking along the spongey spot deep inside you. The pleasure of it makes your hips rocket from their place on the counter and your torso would have crashed into the unforgiving surface of it if he had not been holding you up.

With his target located, his motions were merciless and driven, utterly determined to push you over the edge. He did not have to wait long before your release shattered over you in a thousand prismatic shards, an aurora of colours flowing one into the next behind your eyelids as your walls clamped down viciously on his fingers. You slumped forward against his chest, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses across his collarbones in reverence before whining as he starting to sink out of reach, onto his knees.

You planted your hands on either side of your hips, locking your elbows as you tried not to fall over, watching him settle between your thighs. He licked his lips before sealing his mouth over your folds to lap at your release like a starving man. Your thigh clamped down on either side of his head, still trembling from your first orgasm as he was lay the foundation for your second.

“Please…Please Orm…” Pleas were falling from your lips onto his deaf ears as he growled against you, lapping and nipping and suckling at your overly sensitive clit and folds, teasing your entrance with his tongue.

Your chin fell to your chest as you moaned incoherently, fingertips digging into the unyielding surface you sat upon, trying to anchor yourself lest you be swept away.

“Fuck!” You swore harshly as he pointed his tongue and thrust it deep inside you, rubbing at your bundle of nerves with the tip of his nose.

Of their own volition, your hips rutted against his face, moving in time with the rhythm he set, speed increasing with that of his movements as every muscle of your body went rigid until that tension snapped. You arched back with an anguish wail, hips levitating as your body gushed with release before you slumped onto your back weakly. Covered in a sheen of sweat, you watched him rise to his feet with a look of tremendous satisfaction on his glistening face. He wiped it clean as your chest heaved, gasping for breath as your body still suffered from the aftershocks of your climax.

Gathering you into his arms, he cradled you against his chest before murmuring into your ear.

“Where is your bed?”

You lifted an arm that felt many times heavier than normal to point down the hall and he followed your silent direction, finding it easily. As he moved, you became more and more aware of the feel of his hard, throbbing cock pressed against your hip. Of the damp smear of precum it left against your skin. Feeling somewhat more coherent as he lay you on the bed, you sat up to bring yourself face to face with his length, reaching out to lick at broad stripe from root to tip with your tongue.

The rich groan that greeted your ears made you shiver in delight and you wrapped your fingers around the base of him, repeating the motion before taking the crown of his length between your lips. He grunted in pleasure; fingers moving to cup your jaw and gently force your head back. You looked to him, somewhat confused, but he leaned down to kiss you deeply.

“I want to be inside you.” He said in a rare moment of verbal communication during intimacy, hand moving to cup between your thighs, making you gasp and squirm.

“I need you…” You replied in an open display of shameless vulnerability.

He froze a moment, staring at you without moving. Without breathing. Until he lunged forward to kiss you fiercely and climb over you as he pulled you beneath him. He smoothly pressing the head of his cock to your cunt, sliding into your well-slicked heat until he was fully seated inside you. Orm pressed his face into the side of your neck, taking deep, slow breaths, causing an eruption of goosebumps along your skin. You clung to him, doing some deep breathing of your own as you tried to adjust to the feeling of fullness that came with having him inside you.

As his breathing evened out, he pulled his hips back, making your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feel of him dragging against the sensitive flesh inside you, only to slide back in with an eager groan.

“Oh god, yes! Orm, please! More…” You babbled freely, letting every thought flow from your lips, too far gone to try and make sense.

His cock twitched inside you, your walls clenching in silent reply, making him bite off a curse before he set an demanding pace. Demanding your body to surrender one last climax so that he might join you in release. Snaking your legs around his hips, you clung to him for dear life, each clash of his hips against your stimulating your clit and driving the air from your lungs. You could hear him panting, lips moving against the skin of your neck to form words, but your overstimulated brain was slow to process until at last you realized he was repeating your name. There was a tone of reverence, giving it a prayer-like quality, and the way your heart spasmed in your chest you were certain you had taken your last breath.

The orgasm that erupted through your body could have happily been your last experience upon this earth – it erased all sight and sound, bathing you in a white-hot light as every nerve-ending vibrated in ecstasy. You went slack on the bed, eyelids heavy but somehow obeying your desperate command to remain open and focus upon his face as he thrust erratically against you, through your rhythmically clenching walls to chase his own release. You watched his jaw mouth fall open in a choked-off cry as his eyebrows knit together, hips slamming into yours as his climax began to fill you, rocking against you to wring every drop of release from his body, shuddering head to toe.

Orm pressed a few notably tender kisses to your brow and cheeks before sliding from your trembling cunt, making you whine at the loss, before stretching out of the bed beside you and pulling you close. You leaned up to press gentle kisses of your own his nose and chin before kissing him softly.

“Thank you for coming back…” You whispered tremulously.

He nodded softly, pressing his lips to your temple.

“Thank you for remaining here.”

Masterlist